The Lives of the Lost
by DracosVessel
Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are both lost in their own separate lives ever since the war. They each have their own story that spins more and more out of control. While Harry is trying to regain sight of who he is, Draco is struggling with a drug addiction. When Harry agrees to help Draco recover, their stories become one. (SlashFic; Substance Use/Abuse; Sequel has been posted.)
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Today is Tuesday, May 2nd, 2000. It is also the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. This day has become something of a demented holiday in the Wizarding world. Many people wishing to celebrate the victory and mourn the loved ones lost to the cold grip of death. Although, not all who are considered lost are dead. That is where our story begins. With the lives of the lost.

There are a lot of people who are struggling to recover from the war. The friends and family of those who were killed are the majority of the victims. However, we're only focusing on two specific lost ones.

Harry Potter was relieved after Voldemort had been defeated. He was glad to be rid of the burden and the responsibility of being the Chosen One. However, unfortunately for Harry, that relief and happiness did not last long. The loss of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks – and all the others who perished that day – pierce Harry every day. He wakes up every morning, heavy and exhausted with guilt. No matter what any of his friends tell him, he allows a fog of blame to cloud around him.

Of course, Hermione has been desperately attempting to reach Harry and pull him out of the darkness that he's lost himself in. Ever since Ron left to pursue his new career, Harry and Hermione have been on their own. While Hermione is choosing to hold her head up high and cling to Harry, Harry chose a different path – anger, resentment, and isolation. This is often how he responds to overwhelming situations. His friends understand this, but it doesn't make it easier for them to watch their friend cut himself off from everything and everyone.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, chooses the opposite of isolation. He attempts to drown out the pain and regret with loud music, women, and firewhiskey. Every night is spent at Ego – an appropriately named nightclub that is exclusive to elite Slytherins – usually accompanied by his long time best friend, Blaise Zabini. They occupy the sitting area, ordering drinks, while watching everyone on the dance floor until the night fades into day or until Draco gets invited to a woman's flat.

Blaise has no interest in the scene or any of the other people. He only cares about Draco – his best friend of which he's been secretly in love with for many years. So, of course, he can't help but be concerned about his close friend, despite continuously going along with his behavior. It has always been far too difficult for Blaise not to indulge Draco in whatever it is he desired. Although, it's quickly getting to the point where he'll have to learn how to say no, before he is forced to watch his friend slip so far away that he becomes a complete stranger.

So this is where it all begins. Two boys. Two lives. Two stories. Two journeys that slowly become one. Two lost souls that struggle to find their way out of the darkness. And now they invite you to join them on their travels. Step inside, follow along, and try not to get lost.


	2. Chapter 1 - Isolation

Harry Potter – Saturday, May 6th, 2000

Nightmares. Mind haunted by snow-white skin, scarlet cat-like eyes, and abnormally long white fingers. Suffocated by a flowing, black cloak. Shaken awake with a pounding heart and a cold sweat dripping down my forehead and chest. My eyes flutter open, unfocused on the blurry image of a face hovering just above mine. A warm hand on my arm contrasts my burning skin. My hand flops over to the bedside table to grab my glasses, pushing them onto my face, and allowing my surroundings to come into focus. The first sight that clears in my vision is Hermione's concerned expression.

"Harry?" she whispers softly. "Harry, are you alright?"

After the war, Ron, Hermione, I got a flat together in Muggle London. For the most part I was just with Ron while Hermione went back to Hogwarts. A few months ago, Ron moved to Paris for some new career. He and Hermione separated amicably and stay in contact regularly. However, I can't help but resent him for leaving us again.

"I-I'm fine," I stammer, trying to wake up. "Just a bad dream."

I know she means well and is only concerned about me, so I always force myself not to be harsh with her, but lately I've been feeling more and more irritable. Isolation seems to be the most comforting these days. Hermione notices that I'm pulling away, and I can tell that it's bothering her, but neither of us is willing to acknowledge the tension.

"H-Harry, um –" she sits down on the edge of the bed, her eyes darting in every direction except toward mine, "I was planning on meeting Neville and Luna in Diagon Alley today. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour is having its reopening today. I was hoping you might like to come with us."

My first thought is to decline. It would be nice to stay home all day, knowing that I wouldn't be interrupted. But her dark brown eyes are wide with a pleading sadness. My heart aches slightly with guilt. Hurting her was never my intention. She's the only one who has been by my side every step of the way. I nod slowly, "Er, sure."

Another tight ache occurs in my chest as her face lights up with a wide smile. She immediately wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me close to her, her soft hair tickling my naked back and neck. For a moment it fills me with a sense of calm and gives me a boost of encouragement to get out of bed. She seems to hold on to me longer than necessary, but I don't much mind. When she finally releases me, there is a touch of sadness in her eyes again, adding yet another pang of guilt to spark inside of me.

Avoiding eye contact, I slip out of the bed and drag myself across the floor toward the bathroom. As I turn on the hot water in the shower and begin pulling off my clothes, I can hear Hermione rummaging around in the kitchen, most likely feeding Crookshanks. Stepping under the hot water, calming steam filling the room, a part of me that I miss – the part of me that could be happy and enjoyed spending time with his friends – calls out to me. The urge to run to him overwhelms me, but the nagging bitterness continues to hold me back.

Hermione and I head out to Diagon Alley – I force myself to bury the negative attitude as deep as I can as to not ruin the day for her – and we are constantly being attacked by 'fans' as we travel along the cobbled street. Even people from the _Daily Prophet_ are taking our picture. I try to shut them all out and not let it get to me, but the irritation is bubbling up inside. They all treat me like some big hero and celebrity, but they have no idea what it was really like.

When we finally arrived at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour – a place that brings back good memories, helping me keep the negative attitude at bay – we see that Neville and Luna are already seated at one of the tables, waiting for us. Hermione takes my hand and pulls me toward the small table.

"Hey guys!" Neville greets us enthusiastically. "Harry! So glad you ended up being free!"

I glance over at Hermione, whose guilty expression explains the excuse she had already planned for why I wouldn't have shown up. My own guilt spikes again and pulls a sigh out of my chest. With a forced smile, I turn back to Neville, "Yeah, well, I figured it would be worth taking a day off."

"I agree, we don't see you hardly enough these days."

There goes that guilt again. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were all doing this on purpose.

"Yeah, Harry," Luna chimes in, "where have you been lately?"

"Oh, er," I try to come up with a proper excuse, but all I can come up with is, "I haven't been feeling up to getting out recently."

To make the guilt matter worse, they all give me sad yet understanding looks.

"Well, you're still coming to the party, aren't you?" Luna asks curiously.

"The party?" I parrot, not quite understanding.

"Oh, Harry, I told you weeks ago," Hermione reminds me, a touch of concern in her voice. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are having a party to celebrate Arthur's promotion, remember?"

My eyes widen as the recollection hits me. "Oh! I completely forgot! I-I don't know. Wouldn't it be weird without Ron there?"

"Harry, they invited you knowing that Ron wouldn't be there. They really want you to come. With or without Ron, the Weasleys are all like family."

My lips form a tight line. "Like" family being the key word. In reality, they aren't my family. I've never actually had one of those. What would I even do with one if I had one? Do I even want a family? Marriage? Kids? I used to think that's what I wanted, and I even thought that it could happen while I was with Ginny, but since we broke up I haven't been quite sure. Another jolt of realization that had not before occurred: Ginny.

"I'm just not sure," I finally say after realizing that they had all been waiting for a response.

"Harry –"

"I'll talk to Ginny and see if she's comfortable with me being there," I explain before she can lecture me. "If she is then I'll be there."

This seems to satisfy them all, for now anyway. The truth of the matter is I simply don't want to go. Yes, the Weasleys have all been "like" a family to me all this time, but things have changed. If I show up at the party, then it seems as though I'm saying that I'm not longer upset with Ron for abandoning us again, and that's just not how I feel. I would prefer to stay home and be alone.

My spirit is lifted slightly as very large bowl of strawberry and peanut butter ice cream is placed on the table in front of me. Noticing the two spoons that are placed in the bowl, I slide the bowl over so that it's in reach of Hermione as well, who picks up one of the spoons. Luna has an orange and vanilla swirl with mini chocolate chips sprinkled on the top. Neville is overjoyed by his simple chocolate ice cream with a small cherry. Hermione and I share our bowl of ice cream happily.

Luna makes a slight giggle, causing me to look up. Neville has a large dollop of chocolate ice cream on his nose. His eyes cross awkwardly in an attempt to look at his own nose. Unable to stop myself, I burst into a small fit of giggles. Hermione looks at me, shocked, before she begins to laugh as well. Luna grabs the cherry from Neville's bowl and places it on his nose, which sticks there perfectly, the ice cream acting as glue. This is the first moment of genuine happiness I've felt since Ron left.

"You look ridiculous," I gasp between my spurts of laughter.

He picks up an unused spoon and glances at his reflection. He erupts into laughter along with the rest of us, giving me a nod. "I do, don't I?"

Throughout our fit of snickering, the corner of my eye catches the flashes of camera going off outside the shop window. At least it will be one picture they have where I'm actually smiling – that will be a first.

We all finish our ice cream over pointless conversation before leaving the shop. Hermione is saying her goodbyes, giving Neville and Luna plenty of long hugs, as I take the time to glance around at my surroundings. My eyes find the Quidditch supplies shop almost immediately, but it isn't the shop that first attracted my attention, it was the bright blond head disappearing through the doorway. I shook my head, shrugging it off as a trick of sight. However, as I follow Hermione back down the cobbled alley in the opposite direction, I can't fight the powerful urge to make an excuse to check out the shop.

"Erm, Hermione," I choke out, "do you think I could check out the Quidditch shop. I promise it will only take a minute. I just wanted to see the new display in the window."

"Oh, of course." She actually takes my hand and leads me back toward the shop, as if it had been her idea all along. We stand in front of the store window, but I stare straight past the display and peer inside. My eyes flit over all of the different customers, but none of them stand out. "Do you want to go inside?"

"What? Oh, uh," I pause for a moment. Her tone makes it obvious that she is trying to prolong the time we have together, since she knows that I probably won't be easy to convince to go out again anytime soon. Part of me wants to say no – I shouldn't give in to the strange gnawing in my gut that makes me want this unnecessary clarification. However, the part of me that is grateful that I've been given an excuse to indulge this gnawing feeling wins out in the end. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all!" She smiles brightly and drags me inside. That guilt that's been sneaking up on me at random moments all morning creeps up once more. She never had any interest in coming in this store with me before. She would always go over to the bookshop until I was finished.

The idea that the blond head I'd thought I'd seen before seems to be more and more of just that – an idea, nothing more. A hallucination. My head is spinning around and around the shop, looking at all of the customers, but finding nothing more than a sore neck. Until…

"Harry," Hermione whispers softly, her mouth only inches from my ear. "Isn't that Malfoy?"

With one last jerk of my neck, that I'm sure I'll be feeling tomorrow, I follow her gaze. Sure enough, the blond head is no hallucination. As a few of the customers who had previously been in my way leave the shop, I now have a clear view of Draco Malfoy sitting on the floor in the back corner of the shop as he flips through one of the books that he'd pulled from the shelf behind him. As if he feels my gaze upon him, his body tenses and he lifts his head slowly. When our eyes meet, the emotion in his eyes is unreadable, as always.

"Go on," Hermione nudges me forward gently, giving me the unnerving impression that she can now read my mind. "Go over there."

She gives me one final nudge in my back before I finally continue with slow, hesitant steps on my own. Malfoy doesn't make any attempt to move as I make my way closer. And it isn't just that he doesn't attempt to leave or look away, he doesn't attempt to even blink or move at all. By the looks of him, I'm not even sure if he's breathing. Sitting down on the floor next to him, taking notice of Hermione watching carefully from a distance, I confirm that he definitely is _not_ breathing.

"Hi," the word slips out, the level of stupidity and lameness unable to be surpassed by any other moment in history. Mentally I slam my palm against my forehead, knowing that the second he opens his mouth to respond, I'll regret that one simple word.

His dark grey eyes shift over to mine slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. "'_Hi_.' Is that the award winning dialogue you came up with for your opening number? Great job, Potter. Don't work too hard on your acceptance speech. I'm sure a simple, '_Thanks_' or any other one syllable word will do it justice."

Despite the terrible mood I'd been in, his statement, nor his attitude, irritated me. Instead I simply let one side of my mouth curve up into a half smile. It was a snarky response, but it wasn't exactly mean either, so it's probably best to just go with it.

"Actually, I had a dance routine all planned, but unfortunately the shop is a bit more crowded than I had anticipated during rehearsals," I mutter.

He stares at me out of the corner of his eye for a long moment, then his chest heaves violently as he tries to contain the single laugh that erupts from his throat. "You're an idiot," is all he says, staring back down at the book in his hands.

For some unexplainable reason, I smile at that. The smile vanishes before he has the chance to see it. I pick up one of the other books nearby, smack him gently with it, and drop it to the floor next to him as I stand up. "Later, Malfoy."

That was probably the shortest, yet most pleasant conversation ever to be held between the two of us. I roll my eyes at the thought and rejoin Hermione by the door.

"Everything alright?" she asks, glancing back at Malfoy over my shoulder.

I turn back over to look at him – he is reaching over to pick up the book that I had dropped next to him, flipping it over in his hands – then shrug. "Yeah. He was just giving me some helpful suggestions for a show I'm writing."

"What?" The look of utter confusion on her face makes me laugh uncontrollably.

"Let's go home." As I guide her out of the shop, I'm relieved that all thoughts of that pale blond head are no longer gnawing at me. It seems it was nothing more than an overwhelming curiosity. Rightfully so, I suppose. I haven't seen him once, even in passing, since that day at Hogwarts two years ago. He could have been dead for all I knew. Now that all of the questions of his existence and well-being have been satisfied, my brain allows me to forget all about him and get some peace. Hermione, on the other hand, allows no such thing.

"So, are you going to tell me what he said?"

"He didn't really have much to say. He called me an idiot."

"That's it?" She huffs in frustration at this lack of information.

"What had you been expecting? That we'd have some sort of life changing heart-to-heart right there on the floor of the shop? We hated each other for seven years and then haven't seen each other even once for the past two. I'd say that it went rather well, considering."

"I suppose, although it's a bit strange, isn't it?"

"What's strange?"

"That we don't see him at all for two years and then he just appears out of nowhere."

"Well, we haven't exactly been looking for him, have we? I'm sure he's been living his own life and we just haven't noticed. He loves Quidditch just as much as any other bloke, there's no reason he shouldn't be there." We walk in silence for a long moment as we come up on the end of the familiar cobbled street. "Why do you care so much?"

"What?"

"You seem to care too much about this. Why? It's not like you were any closer to him than I was."

"It's not like that. It's just that, I don't know. The war was really hard on him, too, Harry. I may not like him, but I obviously know that he went through hell. Then he just seems to drop off of the planet without resurfacing for two whole years. I'm just concerned, that's all. I've seen a lot of other people do some pretty drastic things."

"He seemed fine to me. A little less snotty and rude than he usually was, but relatively normal otherwise. I'm sure that it's nothing to worry about. Besides, he's not our problem."


	3. Chapter 2 - Release

Draco Malfoy – Monday, May 8th, 2000

The time ticks onward to almost three thirty in the morning. Of course, I'm in my usual spot in the lounge area in the back of Ego. The emerald green, velvet sofa feels great under my skin as I run the back of my hand over the fabric absent-mindedly. Loud dance music shakes the building with a constant _thump, thump._ Blaise joins me on the sofa, bringing me yet another glass of firewhiskey. I've lost count of how many I've had, but it doesn't matter. I can hardly feel the burn anymore.

We watch all of the other fools embarrass themselves on the dance floor, as we do night after night, as we drink. My mind is far away in the dusty Quidditch supplies shop in Diagon Alley. I don't know anything about being in love. I've never considered such an absurd feeling before. But I definitely feel something for Potter – I just don't know what it is yet. These feelings are nothing new, of course. The only thing that's new is the way he regarded me the other day. The skipping record in my brain replays his words over and over – like listening to a radio that plays the same song over and over that you don't want to hear, but you'd rather hear it than the burning silence.

_'Later Malfoy.'_

Later. Was that meant to imply we would see each other again? There's no way that I could work this out somehow. Pretending for a moment that I'm not far too proud to admit what I'm feeling to anyone, who would I admit it to? Potter? Certainly not. I refuse to put myself in such a vulnerable position. That's just asking to get rejected again. Blaise? How cruel! Blaise has been in love with me since we were thirteen. He thinks that I am utterly clueless, so I pretend not to know. There's no one for me to talk to and nothing I can do to make it go away.

Much like with everything else swimming around in my head. It's all too much to handle, but I can't talk to anyone about any of it and I can't make it go away. One nightmare after another. One regret after another. One dead body after another. When does it end?

Before my thought process can take an even darker turn, it is interrupted by a woman walking up to me. Her dark brown hair flows down past her shoulders in tight curls and her large brown eyes look slightly bloodshot. My eyes scan over her body and I force myself not to show any of my reaction because I know that Blaise is watching me closely. Her tight, black top is strapless and pushes her breasts directly into view of anyone who will bother to look. Her very short white skirt is ruffled at the bottom, drawing further attention to her long legs.

"Draco?" she shouts at me over the music's _thump, thump._ "You probably don't remember me."

"You're Daphne Greengrass's little sister," my mouth seems to make the connection before my brain does and my eyes widen at the realization of who I'm looking at. She definitely looks different. "Astoria – that's your name, right?"

"Yes, so far, but I can always change it if you don't like it."

I laugh, but the sad part is there was no evidence to suggest she was joking. "Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts? You should be a seventh year by now."

"I decided not to go back to school. I found something else that was more important. Speaking of which, do you want to go somewhere with me."

Blaise gives me a sad nod of permission before I abandon him on the sofa and follow Astoria out of the club. She takes my hand and we Disapparate. After my head stops spinning and I can think straight, I take in my new surroundings. There isn't much to see except the darkened street, the moon, and a large apartment building. A hand pulls at my arm, dragging me into the building and up to the third floor.

Astoria's apartment is cluttered and has a scent that I cannot place. However, when she leads me into the bedroom, it looks as if no one has ever been inside the room before. There is no clutter on the floor and the bed seems to have never been slept in.

"I hope I didn't drag you away from a good time back there," she finally says, sitting down onto the end of the bed. "There just wasn't anything interesting happening. Although there was this really gorgeous man there."

"Yeah?" I mock interest. "So why didn't you bring him home?"

"I did." Her devilish smile causes a shiver to travel up my spine. She pats the bed next to her and I allow myself to join her.

Astoria takes me into her arms. Her lips meet mine without hesitation and it melts away whatever reservations I had once had. Warm hands lifted my shirt and I can hear my blood pumping loudly in my ears. Her mouth moves lower, across my jaw and down my neck. There is something strange in the back of my mind, something telling me that I should just get up and leave. My body does not agree. It refuses to stand up. In fact, it does the opposite. It lies down.

As she runs her hands slowly up my torso, she mutters, "Damn, you're perfect."

Something inside of me snaps at the word. _Perfect._ I find myself to be almost disgusted by the sound of it, because I know how far from its definition I am. Instinctively I grab her hands and remove them. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.

"What's wrong?" she asks, reaching for me.

Without speaking, I let my arm drop into her lap, my disgraced forearm exposed. Her eyes fall to the ugly scar and she sighs heavily.

"Does it hurt?"

"Physically? No."

"But emotionally?" She doesn't wait for me to respond, much to my relief, because I'm not sure I would have been willing to actually be honest with either of us. "I have something that can make it all better. Something that will make it all go away."

Astoria rolls over and reaches into the drawer of her nightstand. What she retrieves is not what I had been expecting. Leaning over the surface of the nightstand, she pours onto it an off-white powder. My stomach tightens uncomfortably as I watch her draw the powder into two fine lines.

"W-what are you doing?" I stammer awkwardly.

"You ever done speed before?" she inquires without looking at me.

"Of course not." The slight sound of horror in my voice betrays me.

Her smirk does nothing to easy my nerves, nor does the action of her handing me a straw. "It will make the pain go away, I promise."

Realistically, I know that it won't make anything go away. However, as I stare at the straw in her outstretched hand, I wonder if it might be worth knowing for sure. How bad could it be? If it gives me some release for even a moment, it could be worth it, right? My hand is shaking as it reaches out to take the straw from her. Crawling off the bed, I go to the deadly lines on the nightstand. Point of no return.

Urgh! It feels as though there is firewhiskey in my nose! My eyes tear up and my hand immediately reaches for my burning nose. I bite my tongue to hold back a scream as I'm overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensations. Only a vague image of Astoria is visible through my fingers as she takes the straw and helps herself to the second line left waiting. She barely reacts at all, letting me know that she's obviously done this many times before. Nothing feels normal.

What have I done? I've let the devil into my body, into my brain, and allowed it control. Why did I think this would help anything? What have I done? What have I done! Why did I even come here!? What am I supposed to do with myself now? Was I really so desperate for escape that I was willing to – wait. Pain: weakened. Regret: absent. Perhaps it had helped after all? I feel strong and powerful. The pain might not be fully gone, but it doesn't feel quite so heavy. Not even my body feels quite as heavy as it once did.

Among the other things that seem to be light as a feather at this moment are the hands exploring every inch of my skin. When exactly did I take any of my clothing off anyway? It doesn't much matter after a moment. Lips touch mine. My head is spinning, faster, faster. My heart is pound, harder, harder. My pulse is matching the rhythm of the club music, _thump, thump._ It feels as though the room is on fire around me, my entire body extremely warm.

"I told you that you would feel better," Astoria whispers against the shell of my ear, causing a violent shudder to overcome my body. "Allow me to make you feel better still."

In that moment my world becomes nothing more than a desperate haze – touching and tasting – panting and trembling – my mind and my eyes unfocused – until we are tangled in a burning pile of sweaty limbs almost an hour later. The initial rush has now worn off. As I attempt to catch my breath, Astoria nuzzles her face into my neck.

"Draco?" she whispers.

"Hmm?" I moan in response through my fading haze.

"I know this is going to sound completely mad, but I think you should move in here with me."

"You're not serious, are you? We haven't seen each other in years. We barely know each other anymore."

"So, move in and we can get to know each other. I know that it's insane and very fast, but why the hell not? It will be fun – that's all that matters."

My protests are stifled by another intense kiss, weakening me to my very bones. Logic is non-existent. Refusal is not an option. I feel my head slowly nodding in agreement. The next thing I know, I'm standing outside the front gate of the family manor. I can still feel the high buzzing around in my head. All of the lights in the manor are off – leaving nothing but darkened, lifeless rooms in their wake. Proof that my parents are still asleep.

My head is spinning slightly as I make my way up the walkway, each tiny pebble crunching underneath my feet. Even as messed up as I am now, I can still understand that I can't let my parents see me like this or I'll never make it back out alive. Slipping silently back into the manor, tiptoeing upstairs, and creeping into the bathroom – I turn on a hot shower, strip off my clothes, and climb inside. The steaming water pours down over my skin, cleansing my skin but not the inside of my body or my mind.

Contemplating the fact that there is no way water or soap could ever cleanse my mind or what horrible I've just done to my body, my body shudders. Placing both hands on the wall of the shower, I lean forward against it and let my head fall forward. Face staring down at the floor and water flowing down into my eyes and mouth, I regretfully allow myself to cry. I cry because I'm high. Cry because I know I can't take back what I've just done. Cry because I have no idea where to go or what to do next. Cry because of all the events that led to this. Cry because, as much as I would never want to admit it, it feels good to cry. Cry because I may never feel completely human ever again.

Turning off the water and climbing out of the shower, I think about Astoria. Despite all the damage, she still wants me. This gives me enough strength to stagger down the hall toward my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I bend down and pull my trunk out from underneath my bed, dragging it until it sits open in the middle of my floor. The sun starts to rise outside my window, spurring me to move faster. Get out of the house before my parents wake up. I cast an extension charm on my trunk and throw everything I own, everything I can get my hands on, inside of it.

"This is it," I whisper to myself, latching the trunk closed. I drag my trunk into the hall and lean it against the wall to wait for me. Then I move toward my parents' bedroom, creaking open the door and peering inside. They are both still fast asleep. I slip inside, being extra careful not to make a sound to wake them up, and float across the room. I kiss my mother on the forehead and walk around the bed to repeat the action with my father. And then it's time to slip out quietly, grab my trunk, and get out the door.

The manor looks so much different as I stand outside the front gate with my trunk. My stomach is doing terrible somersaults and cartwheels. It's time to leave before I talk myself out of leaving. One last glance at the ivy covered walls, the exotically decorated gardens, and the family crest on the front gate. Disapparating. No turning back. I'm gone.

Astoria's building is in front of me and my heart breaks. The urge to collapse to the cold ground is overwhelming, until Astoria comes out the door.

"Draco!" she cheers, running toward me and jumping into my arms. "I was starting to worry that you had changed your mind! What took you so long?"

"S-sorry," I murmur. "I showered and then it took a little longer to pack than I expected."

"You showered? Why didn't you wait until you got back? We could have showered together."

My heart skips a beat. "Next time."

"I'm going to hold you to that. Come on inside!"

Astoria helps me drag my trunk up to her flat and we let it sit just inside the door. Everything I own, everything that I am, packed away in an endless trunk, left to be ignored as a complete stranger takes control of my being. Back to the bedroom and for a moment I wonder if packing all of my clothes was even necessary.

An hour or so later, we are lying in bed – naked and sweating – holding each other close. I know that I _should_ be exhausted, but I'm wide awake. There's no chance of sleep. Soft fingertips and perfectly manicured fingernails are rubbing gently over every inch of my skin that they can reach.

"What are you thinking about?" Astoria asks quietly after the long moments of my silence stretch on.

"Everything," I reply. "Us. My past. My future. My parents. Oh, gods, my parents."

"What about them?"

"Well, see, I didn't exactly have the nerve to look them in the eye and tell them I was leaving, so I just left."

"Wait, you what?"

"I packed my things while they were still asleep and then just, um, left."

"You didn't tell them you were leaving? You didn't say goodbye? They have no idea where you are or what happened to you?"

"Er, no, I guess not. That's bad isn't it?"

She releases a heavy sigh. "I'm sure it will be fine. I mean, obviously, they should know when they see all your stuff gone that you weren't kidnapped or anything."

"True. But they'll still be worried. At least my mother will be."

"What about your father? Won't he care?"

"My father's never cared." I grumble bitterly. At my own words, any guilt I may have felt about abandoning them without a single word vanishes. Of course I'm worried about how Mum will take it and I don't want to hurt her. But there's a part of me that feels like Father had it coming – he deserves this. I hope he's out of his mind worrying about me for once. For once, let it be my actions that effect his life. Maybe after a while I'll just send them an owl to let them know that I'm okay. But I know one thing for certain – I can't let them see me. Not like this. I'm too far gone now.

Is there anyone who can save me from this?


	4. Chapter 3 - Shadow

Harry Potter – Wednesday, May 24th, 2000

The face in the mirror is, indeed, my own, although still I'm not quite convinced. It's the same face I've seen my entire life, yet I feel disconnected from it, as though, perhaps, it's a stranger who simply looks like me. An identical twin whom I've never met. My hands grip the sides of the bathroom sink as I stare at the emerald green eyes, jet black hair sticking up in different directions, wire glasses, and – of course – the thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar on my forehead. I tug the collar of my shirt down to reveal the oval shaped scar over my heart from where the Horcrux-locket had burned me. And with the hand gripping the shirt, is displayed yet another scar – "I must not tell lies." I can't help but wonder if scars, not only how they were made, but the scars themselves, could change a person completely.

"Who are you?" I ask the figure in the glass. As expected, there is no response. No answer. No idea who I am these days. I glance at the photograph that is placed on a nearby cluttered shelf. The same green eyes, messy hair, scar, and glasses are laughing happily in between equally joyful Ron and Hermione. After staring at this photograph for a long moment, I brave another look at my reflection.

Couldn't possibly be the same person. There's just no way. The echo in the mirror is nothing more than a shadow of the person in the photograph.

That shadow suddenly has company in the mirror as Hermione's reflection appears, smiling at me. My eyes lift to meet hers in the mirror. For a moment, she seems as though she sees something that isn't right – unfamiliar, troubling – and her smiles fades away. Perhaps she is just as unsure of who I am as myself. That hurts, thinking that she doesn't even recognize me anymore.

"I-I made breakfast if you're hungry," she tells me, keeping her voice quiet as if not to startle me.

I nod, not really hungry, but also not having enough heart to turn her down. We sit down at the small, round table in the kitchen. The table feels significantly emptier without Ron. I scowl at his empty chair. This doesn't go unnoticed by Hermione, of course.

"Are you still upset about Ron leaving?" she asks innocently, hoping she doesn't upset me.

"Don't you mean, 'upset about Ron leaving again?'" the harsh tone in my voice causing her to flinch away slightly. I sigh, softening my expression.

"This isn't the same as it was before, Harry," she says calmly, attempting to reason with me. "He didn't just abandon us as he did before. You know how important his career is to him. This was an amazing opportunity for him. We're his best friends, we had to support him and encourage him to go."

"After everything we've been through, why should a stupid career be more important than our friendship?"

"You know that he doesn't think it's more important, Harry! Ron is still our friend and that is still important to him. This job is only a short term. He'll be coming back after it's over and in the meantime he'll be gaining experience that he couldn't get anywhere else." She stares at me for a long moment as I don't respond. She sighs, reaching across the table to take my hand. "He's coming back, Harry. He promised."

"It really doesn't bother you that he's not here?"

"Of course it bothers me. I wish he was here, but I know that he's coming back. Listen, Harry, I know that you've been a little on edge the past couple months, and I wasn't going to say anything, but I can tell that you're drifting even further away. I'm concerned about you."

"You don't have to be concerned about me, Hermione. I'm fine." I don't even bother to make the lie sound believable. There is no reason to.

Her lips form a hard line and her eyebrows furrow. Silence stretches on as I watch the debate continue in her eyes – to press the conversation, or to just let it drop. Part of me wonders what she sees in my eyes as she struggles to make her decision. Does she see the man in the photograph? Or the mystery man that I saw in the mirror?

"Harry, I wish you would just talk to me about this." And the need to press wins out in the end.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You don't fool me, Harry. And the more you pretend that there's nothing wrong, the more far gone you're going to become. No one would think any less of you if you weren't okay. After all that you've been through, no one expects you to be perfect. You're my best friend; I just want to help you."

"Well, you can't," I bite out harshly. She flinches away again, causing me to regret my tone immediately. I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – look, I know that you're just trying to help, but there's nothing you can do. You can't change what happened. I have to figure out how to deal with this on my own."

Her chest rises with a deep inhale and she lets out a heavy sigh. She clutches my hand in hers and rubs her thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. "I understand that you need to figure this out on your own and I respect that. But don't forget that I'm still here for you. I really, I – "

My stomach turns when she trails off. "What?"

"It's just that – well – I know that you're struggling right now. I know that you need your space. But I feel like I'm losing you and that hurts."

And my stomach drops violently. It's not that I haven't noticed how my foul attitude has been affecting her, but it's a completely different feeling to hear her say it out loud to my face. Obviously my expression displays this.

Her eyes widen and she stammers, "I-I didn't mean to upset you. I know that it's not really your fault. I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean – I just miss you, that's all."

"I miss you, too," I say, not realizing the truth in the statement until after I hear it. I focus on wherever that hidden truth came from and continue, "I do miss you, Hermione. But I just feel so angry all the time and I don't know how to handle it. It's just easier to pull away than lash out at you because I know that none of this is your fault."

"It means a lot to hear you say that. I don't want to push you, but I really wish there was something that I could do to help you. I hate seeing you like this."

Failure to find a proper response results in silence as we both pick away at our plates. Of course I feel bad that this is affecting her so much. But what am I supposed to do? I don't know how to handle this. Perhaps there is some sort of trick to moving forward and getting over all of this. There has to be something missing from my life that can be the key. The only problem is: How do I know what that thing is? Where do I find it? After a moment, I decide to voice this concern, hoping that making Hermione feel included in my thought process will cheer her up a bit.

"You know, even though Ron left, you two still keep in contact all the time," I begin slowly, trying to pick my words carefully. "And you both seem to be handling life just fine. Ginny is back together with Dean and they are both doing really well. It seems like everyone is paired off."

"Do you feel left out or something? I mean, you haven't really made an effort to find someone new."

"It's not that being single is heartbreaking or anything – it's just that I feel like you all have a support system going, someone to help lift your spirits whenever you don't want to get out of bed in the morning."

"Harry, just because you don't have a new girlfriend yet doesn't mean that you don't have a support system. We're all trying to be here for you. We're trying to help you."

"I know that, I do. But I still feel like there's something missing. That feeling. That feeling that there is something or someone who can make it easier. You know how much I care about you – and Neville, and Luna, and everyone – but I just don't get that feeling. It's not just the relationship stuff either. You have your job and your books. Neville has his Herbology obsession. Luna has her artwork and her jewelry making store. I want to have something, too."

"So, you're not looking for a relationship, you're looking for something or someone who brings a little more light into your life?"

"Light seems to be exactly what I need right now. All I know is that I feel so heavy and angry all the time and I want to find that feeling somewhere that can lighten that for me. How do I know what will do that for me? How do I know where I'm supposed to find it?"

"Well, it doesn't necessarily need to be another person. It could be anything. Remember how much playing Quidditch used to lift your spirits despite everything else that was going on? Except for our sixth year, you always looked forward to Quidditch. You need to find your Quidditch again. You need to find that thing that makes you feel like you're flying."

I smile at her choice of words.

"It's important, of course, that if you're going to find whatever this is, you have to go looking for it. You can't expect it to just come to you if you hide in this apartment every day. You'll have to be willing to explore."

Thinking about her words for a moment, I ask, "Where do I start looking?"

She sighs, giving her answer some thought. "I can't really answer that for you, Harry. This is going to be something special to you and only you can find it. Maybe you should take your new broom out for a spin – you haven't done that in ages. Try to see if your passion for flying is still there. Or maybe you can just go out and people watch and collect your thoughts for a while. The first step is just to get out of this apartment. Once you do that you'll find a path, most likely by accident, that will lead you where you need to go."

Without hesitating, making sure I don't give myself time to talk myself out of it, I lean around the table and wrap my arms around Hermione in a light hug. She immediately hugs me back, holding me close to her as if trying to squeeze her positive attitude into me. A look of pleasant surprise is glossed over her face as I pull away from her.

"You always have something wise to say when I need to hear it," I tell her. "I'll never figure out how you do that. Thanks for trying to help me, even though I've been pushing you away lately."

"You can push me away as much as you want, Harry, but I'm not going anywhere."

Hermione grabs the empty plates from the table and puts them in the sink. I find myself having a staring contest with Crookshanks, who sits on the floor at my feet staring up at me, as I attempt to process the conversation that just happened. This is obviously going to take more motivation than I currently have. So, I suppose Step One would be to find some motivation to get my ass out of this comfort zone. Step Two – to be determined. It would be so much easier if I already knew what I was supposed to be looking for.

Without speaking, I rise from my seat at the table and return to my bedroom. Throwing open the closet door, I begin rummaging through the packed boxes that I've somehow managed to ignore all this time. Perhaps it would be wise to unpack them – I can't even remember what's in them. However, the boxes are not my main focus as I reach my hand toward the back wall and feel around until my hand closes around the handle of my broomstick. Does the fact that I would have allowed my broom to be buried in darkness and forgotten say something about how far I've fallen? Struggling for a moment to maneuver the broom around the small stacks of boxes, I finally remove it and examine it.

Luckily the broom looks to be in pristine condition, if not only slightly dusty. A smile creeps onto my face at the way the broom feels in my hand. Unbelievable how long it's been since I've even seen this. When Ron and George gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, we all took turns testing it out – I haven't ridden it since. It remained propped up against the wall untouched. When my nineteenth birthday rolled around last year, Ron wasn't here to celebrate, so out of anger, I threw the broom in the closet where it has been ever since. I frown at the knowledge that when my twentieth birthday arrives in the coming months, he will once again be missing.

I drag the broom back out into the main area of the apartment, where Hermione had migrated to the sofa. It is almost comical how she can go from zero to reading in less than a minute. She manages to pull herself away from the pages long enough to glance up at the object I've obtained.

"Haven't seen that in a while," she says quietly, seemingly hoping she doesn't say the wrong thing.

"Yeah, since the day I got it. I think maybe it deserves a day out in the fresh air," I murmur, my eyes scanning up and down the beautifully crafted broomstick.

"I agree. The fresh air might do _you_ some good as well; help you clear your head."

"That's what I'm hoping for." I pause for a moment before heading outside. "We're okay, aren't we?"

She looks a bit surprised for a moment, then almost guilty, before replying, "Of course, Harry! I didn't mean to make you feel bad before. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was here for you. And I still am – that hasn't changed. We are perfectly fine. Now, go on and try to enjoy yourself. I promise I'll be right here when you get back."

There was something about her words that penetrated me. _I promise I'll be right here when you get back._ For some reason there was something about that I truly needed to hear. She wasn't going to abandon me – she never had before. This makes me feel much more relaxed and appreciative of her.

"Erm, maybe we can go out for lunch after I get back then?" I mutter nervously. There is no reason I should be nervous simply asking my best friend to have lunch with me, but for some reason I feel as if, after the way I've treated her lately, she would be doing me a favor by saying yes.

This time, she doesn't hesitate with shock before smiling at me. "I'd love that."

Nodding in agreement at her before leaving, I take the broom outside and into the cool, fresh air. The light wind feels gentle on my skin, as if it is calling me into the air. How could I deny the wind when it beckons me so politely? Swinging my leg over the broom and gripping the handle tightly, the feeling is so pleasantly familiar. My feet leave the ground and it feels almost as if I could be back at Hogwarts during Quidditch practice. Almost.

At the thought, I fly high above the buildings surrounding me so that I can see for miles. Looking all around, there is nothing more to see, nothing there but me. That makes me calm. I am alone – no one here to hurt me now. I am flying high above the rest of the world – all of my problems and concerns are left down below, too heavy to follow me all the way up here. Will this be it? Will this be the thing that I need to pull me back to human? Could it really be that easy? There's only one way to find out. Higher. Higher. Faster. Faster. The wind is less gentle now, feeling slightly rougher against my skin. The wind whips around me and I around it in a sort of playful dance. There is nothing wrong here now. It is only me and the wind.


	5. Chapter 4 - In Too Deep

Draco Malfoy – Monday, June 5th, 2000

Out of the darkness, my body seems to come back to life. Was I really dead? No, couldn't have been. I must have passed out. How long have I been out? What time is it? What day is it? Rolling over in the warm cushioning of Astoria's bed, I force my eyes to open and look around. My clothes are in a messy pile on the floor next to the bed. My body is completely naked, floating on a sea of smooth, silk sheets. The strange Muggle clock on the nightstand tells me that it is around eleven o'clock in the morning on Monday, June 5th. I've been gone, lost inside my own head, for two days. June 5th? Today is my twentieth birthday.

Feeling completely burned out, my brain can't focus on anything, my limbs are unmoving. Everything seems to have shut down – everything, of course, except for whichever part of the brain allows you to feel pain. The only function of my brain that I had wanted disabled, is the only function still working properly. I can still feel everything. Still feel the pain of everything I try to forget. Still feel the anger at myself and everyone who let it all happen. Still feel guilt for having just run off and done something so reckless with Astoria.

Where is Astoria? Did she just leave my unconscious body alone for two days without a single concern? Forcing my stubborn limbs to move, dragging myself out of the bed, I walk slowly around the flat. She is nowhere in sight. She just left me here. Finding myself irritated by her carelessness, I decide that I should go somewhere as well. I hope that she comes home to find me gone and worries about where I am. I pull my clothes on and go into the bathroom to attempt to make myself look presentable. Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I turn on the water, splash the cold water onto my face, and look up.

Oh, Merlin! Who was in the mirror? That couldn't be Draco, no, no, not Draco. Not the Draco I grew up with. Someone new. An evil clone with bloodshot eyes and a tired face. My stomach feels jumpy. Who have I allowed myself to become? There is a part of me that knows I need to pack my things, go back home to my parents, tell them what I've done, and never get high again. However, the part of me that wants to get high again is stronger and more powerful, holding me hostage.

Once I feel that there is nothing more I can do to improve my pitiful appearance, I exit the flat and step out into the world. There is only one place that I can think to go and I Disapparate immediately. The act of Apparation under my current state is even more of a twist on the body and mind than usual. Even once I materialize in front of my destination, my insides all still feel twisted in an unknown space. I am now at another apartment building, climbing the stairs until I reach the door I want. Knocking heavily on the door, I listen for sounds of movement inside. The door swings open and shocked, brown eyes stare in disbelief at me.

"Draco?" Blaise says as I push past him into the apartment. After a moment, the shock wears off and he moves on. "Where the hell have you been!? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Forget me. Do you have any idea what you've done to your parents!?"

I shrug. "I sent them a letter saying I was okay."

"That was weeks ago! And you failed to mention where you were in that letter! They are both in a panic! You've been gone for a month with no word, no explanation!"

"Well, I'm fine, so it doesn't matter where I've been. Damn, why are you breathing down my neck!?" I can feel myself start to get irrationally irritated and defensive.

His eyes are scanning over my body. I know he can see how much I've changed in the past month. Anyone could see it. My hair is unkempt. My eyes are bloodshot. My clothes are becoming slightly too big for my shrinking body. I can't remember the last time I've eaten anything. There's no way he wouldn't notice. "What's going on with you?"

"What? Nothing!"

"This isn't like you, Draco. Being so inconsiderate of your parents. Blowing me off and then never stopping by to explain. Now you show up here after a month, looking a total mess, with no explanation and a serious attitude problem. Who are you?"

"Fuck you, Zabini! I'm me! I'm the same person I've always been!" Even as I hear the words leave my lips, I know they aren't true. That person is long gone, no idea where. But I can't bring myself to admit what I've done, so instead I grow angrier. "It's none of your damn business what I do, where I do it, or who I do it with! You're not my fucking boyfriend, despite what you wish to be true."

The look of shock and hurt crosses over his face. This is the first time I've let him know how aware I am of his feelings for me, and at the same time made it painfully obvious that what he wants is not, nor will ever be. He looks betrayed and I want to apologize and fix everything, but the evil clone from the mirror refuses to relinquish control.

"So just leave me the fuck alone!" the mirror clone growls viciously.

"D-Draco, what –"

The mirror clone doesn't want to hear anymore. He throws his hands up in anger and Blaise closes his mouth immediately. Blaise actually looks _afraid_ of me. I shove my way past him to leave, upset that this visit hadn't gone nearly the way I had wanted. His voice stops me when I hit the door.

"D-Draco, wait," he whispers. I turn around to see him holding a small box out to me. Hesitantly reaching out, I take the box from him, confused. "Happy Birthday."

Guilt overwhelms me so violently that I feel sick to my stomach. I clutch my stomach and collapse to the floor in the middle of the doorway. Without hesitating, Blaise runs to my side and pulls me to him. He puts his hand to my forehead, most likely checking for a fever. He cradles me like a small child, but I feel too light headed to pull away. Guilt alone shouldn't cause this. There is something wrong. There wouldn't be if I had stayed away from the chalk that has affected my mind and body.

"Draco?" Blaise whispers down to me, his voice is heavy with concern. "Draco, are you alright? What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I'm just a bit light headed," I mumble, finding it a bit difficult to speak. What's happening to me? And then the worst thought pops into my head: I need more.

It pains me to look Blaise in the eye. Those eyes are full of concern and pure affection, which makes me feel even more ill. He brushes my hair away from my eyes, subtly stroking his fingertips down the side of my face.

"Come on, maybe you should lay down for a while," Blaise suggests. "I don't know where you've been all this time, but I want you to move in here with me. Whatever is happening to you, I want to help. I want to take care of you, Draco, please."

My eyes stare, unfocused, up at him. Even though I can register the pleading in his voice, my body doesn't want to stop. I need more. Sitting up, I avoid making eye contact with him and push myself upward into a standing position. The room spins a bit and I have to place my hand on the doorframe for support.

"N-no, I'm fine," I stammer, my mind only able to focus on one thing. I need more. "I really should go."

"Draco, wait –"

But I'm already stumbling awkwardly down the corridor. It only half registers in my brain that I'm still clutching the small box he had given me. I need more. Am I stable enough to Apparate back to Astoria's flat? Probably not. But I can't wait much longer. I need more. It will take too long to walk all the way back there. I need more. Holding my breath, I turn on the spot and everything twists uncomfortably until I'm standing outside on the street, looking at Astoria through her kitchen window. The few minutes it takes for me to get up to her feels like years.

"Draco!" Astoria shouts when I walk into the kitchen. "Where did you go!? I came back and you were gone! Are you alright?"

"I need more," the words barely make their way out, but a look of understanding glosses over her face.

Back in the bedroom. Naked on the bed. Powder. Fire! Release. My body relaxes slightly, satisfied, however, not relaxed at all. Wired. Wide awake. Astoria's hands, lips, and tongue are traveling all around my body in chaotic movements, but I barely even feel her. Instead I lay flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Some would say that I was lost in thought, but there were no thoughts, no nothing, nothing to be lost in but cerebral emptiness. No, I was not lost in thought – I was simply lost.

The more Astoria's hands and mouthed worked, the more the sensation began to actually make its way to my brain, allowing me to notice. Although, it wasn't quite as powerful as it used to be. My skin isn't as sensitive to her touch as it had once been. They say that speed will destroy the pleasure center in the brain, but has it actually done that so quickly, or am I simply not interested in what she is offering me? Perhaps both? The answer is too heavy for my mind to process at this point, so I continue my silent interrogation of the ceiling. It's not talking yet, so we could be here a while. We're going to be here until it cracks. Slightly amused by my police interrogation comparison to what is nothing more than me staring blankly at an inanimate object, I giggle softly, even though it wasn't particularly funny at all.

Astoria stops and reaches across my body toward the nightstand. "What is this?"

I look over reluctantly to see her pick up the box that Blaise had given me – the box I had forgotten about. "Oh, it's just a birthday present from a friend I saw today. I haven't opened it yet."

"Oh! That's right! Today is your birthday!"

For some reason I'm not thrilled by her excitement after the obvious sign that she had forgotten about it. Even after a month of no contact, Blaise never forgot my birthday. Pulling away from Astoria, I sit up and take the box out of her hands. I pull the wrapping off of the box and open the lid, revealing a stunning silver ring with a dragon on the face. Blaise had known how upset I was when I lost my other ring with the snake on it during the war. This replacement looks almost identical to the first ring, except for the creature on the face.

Slipping the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit, there is a part of me that desperately wants to return to his apartment and fix everything. However, I can't bring myself to move. I can't bring myself to leave this – the warmth of the bed, Astoria's touch, and the high. This past month I've been trying to deny the truth of the situation I've gotten myself into, but after today – after the way I treated Blaise, seeing what the speed has done to me, and still not being able to walk away – I can't deny: I'm in too deep.

"What's wrong, baby?" Astoria's voice distracts me, bringing me back to the moment.

"Nothing," I reply with a dull tone, staring down at the ring on my hand.

Astoria pushes herself into my line of sight, stealing my attention away from anything else. She presses herself into me and kisses me. "I love you, Draco."

I can't bring myself to say it back. I can't bring myself to say anything at all. Instead, I just allow her to kiss me, kissing away all doubts I may have had about staying here, convincing me that there is no reason why I should need to leave this. She loves me. She truly loves me. Why would I ever leave that? Of all of the people in the world, she chose to be with me and only me. It would be foolish to throw all of that away, wouldn't it? An unpleasant thought crosses my mind.

"Astoria?" I mumble against her lips.

She pulls away from me, looking at me curiously. "Huh?"

"This is probably going to sound really stupid, but – well, I was just wondering if – um – if I was the only person that you are with. It's okay if you say no," I lie.

"Where is this coming from?" she asks without answering my question.

"I don't know, it was just – never mind. It's not important."

She watches me for a long, painfully silent moment. "Of course I'm not seeing anyone else. It's only you, Draco. You have nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I – I wasn't worried, I was just wondering."

She smiles at me, clearly unconvinced. I silently curse myself for being so pathetically transparent. Why should I even care if she's seeing someone else? She doesn't belong to me. We've only been seeing each other for a month and it was never actually decided that we were a couple anyway. However, perhaps it has just been confirmed? My head is spinning and I can't think about it any longer. Instead, I force myself to clear my mind of all thoughts that might threaten to bring me down.

Our lips meet again – this time the kiss is significantly more vigorous and passionate. Lips glide smoothly over lips; tongues stretch out to dance together; hands explore every inch of skin they can reach. Spinning. Spinning. Out of control. I'm losing myself – in pleasure, in her, in the dark abyss of my mind, in the black hole that the drug has created in my life. There is no redemption. There is no hope. In too deep. In too deep. I'm gone.

Hands grip tighter, touches turning to embraces. Point of no return. We're going under. Our bodies coming together as one. The entire room is spinning and my breath is quickening. Fireworks are exploding inside my brain. A thin layer of sweat blankets my skin. Why would I ever want to leave? Why would I ever want this to end? Never. My heart is thundering relentlessly inside my chest and it seems as though it could give out at any moment. For some reason, though, I'm not afraid. No power strong enough to make me stop. Stop what – her or the speed – I will never know. Perhaps I do not want to know. Shut it out.

Vision turns white. Body tenses. Breath hitches. Hands grip tightly around her waist. Knuckles turning white. Jaw clenched tight. Enveloped in ecstasy.

Opening my eyes, I look up at Astoria's flushed face staring down at me as she remains perched on top of me. The moment is over and the satisfaction is gone. The pleasure does not last and my mind seems to fade back into darkness. The drug is much more powerful than the pleasure and it pulls me back away from it. Is this what the rest of my life is going to feel like? Is the rest of my life going to feel like anything at all?


	6. Chapter 5 - Ghost Town

Harry Potter – Thursday, June 15th, 2000

Frustration is beginning to dominate my mind and fog my way of thinking. It has been so obvious that I have allowed my anger to take control of my life. Recently I have tried my best to make an effort to regain control. I have attempted spending much more time with Hermione, Neville, and Luna, hoping that the comfort my friends used to give me would still be there. Of course, it was, but only to an extent. Much of my alone time has been spent on my broom, flying high above the rest of the world. Hermione even gave me books that I could read that she thought may help me figure out how to, as the books put it, "find myself and pass through my grief." They were mostly rubbish.

It's been quite a while and still no redemption has been achieved. I am becoming rather frustrated with my lack of progress. The frustration seems a better way to go than hopelessness. If I allow myself to be hopeless, I may lose all my motivation and I'll be right back where I started. Hermione and I end up sitting on the sofa in our living room discussing this.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way," Hermione says after several minutes of me whinging, "but perhaps you aren't trying hard enough. I mean, it's great that you have made more of an effort to spend time with us, Harry, but if that wasn't working for you before then it probably shouldn't now. The flying has seemed to improve your mood slightly, but you're saying that it isn't what you've been looking for. You haven't really tried much of anything else."

I sigh heavily. "I _am_ trying. I just don't know what else I'm supposed to do. It's not that simple."

"I know it's difficult, Harry, and I'm not suggesting that you are going to find a quick fix in a day, but you're also not going to find it by avoiding the problem miles up in the air."

"I'm not _avoiding_ anything! It's easier for me to clear my head when I fly."

"Maybe a _clear_ mind isn't the form of mind you need."

"That's not helpful at all," I mutter dully. We stare into each other's eyes for a long, quiet moment, silently having a conversation that doesn't seem to be leading us much of anywhere. Her hand has a light grip on my own, her warm skin feeling incredibly soft and comforting as she absent-mindedly strokes her thumb over the back of my hand. This is something she often does when we have these sort of conversations and she ends up lost in thought.

"I'm running out of ideas, Harry. Listen, you said that you clear your mind when you fly. Is there a specific place your mind goes when you escape everything that's waiting for you on the ground?"

Thinking about my answer, I imagine myself on my broom high above the tall buildings and trees, wind whipping away all evidence that there is anything else. There are no specific images or anything that flash across my mind. "I-I don't know."

"Perhaps you should clear your mind as you do when you fly. Once you are confident that your mind is clear and you are in that place, just Disapparate. Don't give it any thought at all. Just go. See where it takes you."

Nodding in agreement at her, I stand up off the sofa, my hand slipping out of hers. Cold tingles across the skin of my hand where hers used to be, shocked by the sudden lack of warmth. Standing in the middle of the living room, my back to Hermione, I close my eyes and force myself to clear my mind. Part of me feels as though I'm back in those bloody Occlumency lessons. Shaking off the memories, I try to imagine wind whipping playfully around me with miles of empty air in every direction. Eventually my body embraces the illusion that I am floating and my mind is empty. _Disapparate!_ my body seems to register without my mind even needing to remind it and then twists on the spot.

After the typical, uncomfortable experience, my body finds equilibrium. My eyes hesitate to open, unsure what they will see. There is not much to hear around me, which makes me slightly suspicious. There are a few distant voices that are indistinguishable. With a long, deep breath, my eyes flutter open. Laughter threatens my composure as I immediately know where I am. I should have assumed this is where I would end up.

The street is practically empty, but the few retail shops and the pub along it are reasonably occupied. The idea that there could be all these people nearby, yet the area still seem so quiet, gives the entire village a peaceful atmosphere. I know that the statue of my family and the ruins of my old home are still preserved as they had been the first time I'd been here. Everything is the same – everything is exactly as it should be – everything except for me. An older woman who is coming out of the post office smiles and waves politely at me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," the woman greets me with a warm, but fragile voice.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," I reply, nodding to her. After only a slight moment's hesitation, I go to her side and reach for the medium-sized parcel in her arms. "Do you need help with that?"

A pleasantly surprised expression flashes across her features before she graces me with a smile that could light up the whole village. "Thank you, dear. You're very sweet. I'm not far from here."

Slowing my pace down significantly to match hers, I carry her parcel and follow her to her home. As we pass by the shops, I vaguely notice people from inside the shops gawking out the windows at me. Ignoring them, I look everywhere else but at the shops. My eyes fall on the familiar church and the cemetery next to it. My jaw clenches tightly along with my heart at the sight of it. Guilt filters its way into my small world at the realization that I don't come to visit my parents' grave nearly as often as I should. The entire village seems to be filled with ghosts – of my parents, of innocent lives lost, of memories still haunting. What was once a happy home is now nothing more than a ghost town. The elderly woman remains silent the entire way down the road until we reach the line of quaint cottages and she guides me toward the nearest one.

"This is me," she says, opening the small gate that leads into the yard. "Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," I tell her politely, despite the urge to abandon her and go to the cemetery. Following her into the cottage, a mouth stretches into a smile at the sight.

The entire cottage is decorated in warm colors. There are vases of different sorts of flowers on every table. Pleasant scents of baked goods and flowers are thick in the air. Thick, warm blankets are folded over the backs of chairs and the sofa, as well as folded up on a bench in the corner. In many ways, this place reminds me of the Burrow. There are knitting-needles working on their own in one corner to create sweaters and scarves. A plate of biscuits is displayed on the table in front of the fireplace. Only a few photographs are scattered around in elegantly carved, wooden frames.

"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," the elderly woman offers, setting herself on the task of fetching us some tea.

"Call me Harry," I insist, setting her parcel down on one of the many chairs in the room and picking a spot on the sofa nearest the fireplace to sit. The flames are crackling and dancing about hungrily across the logs of wood. Only a quick moment later, the woman joins me with a small tray in her hands.

"Harry, then," she concedes, setting the tray on the table and sitting in a rocking chair across from me. She hands me one of the cups of tea and leans back in the chair to smile at me. "So, indulge an old woman and tell me what brings you here today."

Instincts tell me quite strongly that talking to this old woman would be extremely beneficial. Still hesitating, I take a sip of the tea as an excuse to delay my response. "Well, I'm not entirely sure. My visit wasn't exactly planned. A friend of mine told me to clear my mind and Disapparate and see where I ended up. I ended up here."

"Well, that is quite understandable for obvious reasons, I suppose. May I ask why your friend would suggest such a thing?"

"I'm currently on a mission to find something."

"What are you looking for, dear?"

"I'm not sure. Something. Something life changing."

"Ah, of course."

"You seem to know exactly what I'm talking about, even though I have no idea."

"I know plenty of it, Harry. My only family was killed during the war. After realizing that I was the only one left, I did much soul searching in order to make peace with the tragedy. I did everything I could think to do. I attempted to distract myself with knitting and baking. I packed up all of their belongings and all but a couple of their photographs, hoping that shutting out their memory would shut out everything else. Of course, I quickly realized what an insult that was to them. I spent many hours within the church, hoping I would find peace there."

"Well, what did you finally find that worked?"

"I didn't." She paused for a moment to gauge my reaction. At my disappointment, she smiled and continued, "It found me."

"What?"

"Listen, Harry, I cannot imagine what you are going through. If you are in search of something life-changing, it is clear that you are unhappy and unhealed. If you are open to it, I have a few pieces of advice for you from my many years."

"Please, I really need legitimate advice from someone who actually knows what they're talking about."

"First thing you have to understand, is that you've been wounded in many ways and, to an extent, your heart may never fully heal. You cannot be in search for perfection, Harry, because you will always be disappointed and resentful. You must learn to accept what has happen and how it has affected you and use that to shape who you are and the life you want to live. Don't let it keep you from a life you've fought, and your parents fought, so hard to protect."

Her words sink into my skin with a sharp pain. My parents gave their lives for mine and now I'm wasting it away as if I don't appreciate their sacrifice. Would they be as sickened with me as I am with myself at this?

"The second thing to remember is that you have friends who have been by your side through the darkest moments. They have protected you and they have cared for you deeply. The one from the papers, what was her name?"

"Hermione?" As the name left my lips my heart ached in anticipation for what this woman was going to say about her.

"Yes, that's it! From what I've heard about Hermione, she has been quite a passionate and faithful friend."

"Yes, yes, of course, she has. She's never left my side for anything since the day I met her."

"And she is still with you now, dear. That is why it is important to hold on to her. Friends like that are difficult to find and having them near is a special kind of healing magic. She may not understand every single emotion you are feeling or every attack that has been made on your life, but she understands that you are struggling. Many lives have been lost, and that is a terrible tragedy, but that is why it is more important than ever to cherish those who are still with us. Don't ignore the ones you have to stew over the ones you've lost."

These words hit me hard as well. All this time I've known that pushing Hermione away was not the proper way to handle things and I always knew in the back of my mind how special she was to my life – I wouldn't have survived this long at all without her – but I couldn't bring myself to filter that truth into my behavior toward her. There is something about hearing it from a complete stranger that makes it settle deeper in.

"Lastly, Harry, I want you to understand what I said before. I spent many months searching and searching for what I needed to heal me. All I ended up with was hundreds of knitted sweaters, empty picture frames, and a heavy heart. The longer I searched without results, the more frustrated and exhausted I became. Eventually, I gave up and stopped searching – and that is when the thing I'd been searching for came to me on its own."

"So, you're saying –?"

"Stop searching, Harry, dear. If you focus too hard on searching for something that you don't understand, you'll be blind to it when you find it. Allow the thing you need to come to you. And most importantly, keep an open mind, because if the thing you were looking for was something you would expect, you would have already found it."

I sigh heavily, as if I had been holding my breath throughout the entire conversation. "I wish I had met you a year ago. Unfortunately, I should probably be going. Hermione has no idea where I ended up and she's going to start to worry soon. I hope it's alright if I come back to visit you sometime?"

"That would be lovely, dear. Be sure to give Hermione a hug when you get home."

"I will definitely do that, thank you. And thank you very much for all of your help. Truly, this has been quite an eye-opening conversation for me."

"It was my pleasure, Harry, after all you've done for our world." She smiles warmly. "And remember what I said about keeping an open mind. Your instincts will lead you right."

"Thank you, um –"

"Arlene Devon, my dear."

"Thank you, Arlene." I kiss the back of her hand. "I will certainly come back to see you again."

"Until then."

Stepping out of the house and into the fresh air, I feel as if the whole world looks slightly different somehow. I Disapparate and return home. A strange thought. Home. I ignore that debate and head upstairs. The moment I walk through the door, my eyes meet the large, brown eyes of Hermione, who is curled up on the same spot on the sofa she had been when I left. She jumps up and manages to cross the room within seconds.

"Harry! What happened? Where did you go?" she asks frantically, looking me over to make sure that I am all in one piece. Her panic is amusing, considering it was her idea for me to go.

I'm not truly processing her questions as the words of Arlene Devon are still replaying persistently in my mind. Hermione is standing in front of me expectantly. Without bothering to answer her, I grab her by the waist and pull her against my chest. Her arms wrap around my own waist immediately in response. We stand there in completely silence, holding each other close.


	7. Chapter 6 - Out of Control

Draco Malfoy – Saturday, July 1st, 2000

The day has faded into night and the darkness accompanies me on my long walk back home. Can I even call that my home? Living there for two months doesn't necessarily make it a home. The streets are practically empty except for a couple of random people scattered about. How have I managed to travel so far from "home" in the state I've been in? Stumbling across a large bridge, I take a moment to rest. Leaning against the rail at the edge of the bridge and looking down into the water below, the wind whistles around me.

The water is relentless and it sings along with the whispering wind, tempting me closer and closer over the edge. Wind helps to blow the cool mist up into my face. Part of me wonders what it would feel like to join them. Allow the wind to carry me down and the water to embrace me possessively. The idea sparks a sense of freedom deep within me and the temptation grows stronger. Freedom from the limitations my body puts on my mind. Freedom from the world bustling around above the water. Freedom from the grip of the speed that has me running in dreadful circles.

Rubbish. There is no freedom from such things. There is only imprisonment. It takes several moments before it registers in my brain that I could even be so seduced by such suicidal thoughts. Am I really so far gone? Am I really that out of control? Really that numb and empty? Perhaps it's possible that I am. And perhaps it's possible that I shouldn't be. Sure, being numb from all that pain was exactly what I wanted – the exact reason I allowed myself to sink so low in the first place. However, it is no longer just the pain that has been numbed. Now I'm wondering if it was really worth it? Would I rather feel the pain than nothing at all?

"Sir?" a female voice attempts to penetrate the barrier of cognizant thought. My body turns to face the sound. A young woman was staring at me with wide, concerned eyes. "Sir, are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine," I mumble in reply. "I was just resting. I've been walking for quite some time now."

"Do you need me to take you somewhere?"

"Oh, no, no, I'll be alright. I've not much farther to go."

She nods and allows me to walk away from her. The entire rest of the way back to Astoria's, I was in some sort of haze, thinking vaguely about that woman – she was so kind to me with not a clue who I am. I remain in awe of that fact until I find myself opening the door to Astoria's place.

Roaming around, I notice that I was correct in being hesitant to call this my "home." All of my things that I had packed two months ago are still snug in my trunk that has found its own spot in the living room near the front door. Perhaps I could be wrong, considering I've only ever lived at the manor, but I would assume that if a place was truly your home, you would unpack your things. This is not the case for me. Every single thing I own, except for the clothes that I am currently wearing, are in my trunk. Who insisted that it remain that way, anyway?

A subtle _thud _drew my attention back toward the bedroom. Astoria must be here. I hope she hasn't been wondering where I've been at such a late hour. Pushing the bedroom door open, the concern that she was worried about me is no longer an issue. She has been far too busy with whoever the man on top of her is. Her eyes widen as she catches sight of me over his shoulder.

"S-stop," she mumbles breathlessly to the stranger, who freezes and looks back at me. My stomach lurches violently at the sight of his face. He wasn't a stranger at all. He was Astoria's supplier. Looking mildly irritated, he pulls himself out of her and rolls out of her way.

I simply stare at her. Multiple emotions stir inside me, but none of them are able to win me over to cause a reaction. Instead I stand there motionless – numb and empty.

"Draco, come here." Astoria climbs out of the bed and approaches me without bothering to cover her naked body. She takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom away from her guest. We end up standing in the living room – her being clearly unashamed of her current state of nakedness – staring at each other. Finally, she says, "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" I repeat, finding it a rather ridiculous thing for her to say. "I'm fine. Although, if you expect me to sleep in that bed ever again you're barmy."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Is it? Well, I suppose this seems as good a time as any to be a bit dramatic."

"He's my supplier, Draco, you know that. I can't afford to always pay him the full price for the amount of chalk he sells me. I have to give him something."

"So you decided to give him you?"

"I didn't have any other options, Draco. You must understand that."

"I don't understand that at all, actually. How long have you been paying him with this alternate form of currency?"

Now she suddenly seems a bit more self-conscious, hugging her arms around herself to cover her chest. She stares down at the floor, desperately avoiding my gaze. "About a year."

Suddenly my numb and empty state is taken over by anger. My heart begins to pound viciously and I have to speak through clenched teeth. "You told me that I was the only one you were with."

Astoria sighs heavily. "What else was I supposed to tell you? I couldn't possibly have told you anything other than what you wanted to hear. If I did, you would have left."

"So instead you decide to lie to me and continue to prostitute yourself in secret?"

"I am not a prostitute!" she hisses, her guilt and remorse fading into irritation. "You just don't understand! I did what I had to do. And may I remind you that what I'm doing is for _both_ of us! Or have you forgotten how much you use the product I'm working for!?"

"Well at least I wouldn't sink so low to whore around to get it!"

"Oh, _please!_ You honestly think you're so morally superior to me!? You sleep with me after we use, does that make you a prostitute!?"

"That's completely different!"

"Why is it so different!?"

"Because you're sleeping with that creep so that you can get drugs! I slept with you because you told me that you loved me!"

"You're going to try to make me feel guilty for telling you what you wanted to hear!? Oh, come off it! What do _you_ know about love, anyway!? All you're good for is having sex and getting high!"

We both freeze at her last statement. Her eyes widen at the realization of what she said. But it was too late. The damage was done. My stomach is jumping about like a fish out of water. A slight burning in my eyes threatens to turn my anger into a completely different emotion. Well, at least I'm feeling something. The words sink deep into my skin and soul as if it had been written with one of Umbridge's fucked up quills. _All you're good for is having sex and getting high._ Simple words. Heavy meaning. Cutting deep. Imprinted. There was no taking it back.

"Draco, I didn't mean wh –" she began, but I cut her off immediately.

"Is that it then?" My voice cracks slightly as I force the words out. "That's what all this has been about. The empty words were all some sort of game. Is that why all of my stuff is still packed away in my trunk in the corner?"

"No! No! That's not it at all! I didn't mean –"

"You don't love me at all, do you? They were all a bunch of lies from a fucked out crank queen!" I spit out at her aggressively. She backs away from me, her eyes wide. "Fuck you and fuck this shit you got me on! _You_ did this to me! You _destroyed_ everything I was! And for what!?"

"D-Draco, I –"

"I honestly don't care what you have to say," I bite out, forcing a calmer tone. "Nothing you say means anything now. So, you know what? If all you're looking for is to have sex and get high – then I'm going to go."

"No! Please!"

"No. That's it. Everything about my life now, everything about who I've become, makes me _sick!_ But I couldn't leave because I thought you actually loved me and that made it worth it. Now that I know it was all just a show, it's not worth it anymore. So, I'm going to take my neglected trunk and I'm going to go. You've chosen what's most important to you. Go back to _him_ and do what you have to do. But leave me out of it. Because I'm done."

Astoria opens her mouth to speak, but only a slight _squeak _comes out. She stands there silently, staring open-mouthed at me as I reach for my trunk. The trunk feels so much heavier now than it did when I brought it here. Nothing left for either of us to say, I give her one last long look before dragging my trunk behind me out the front door. As the door clicks shut behind me, the chapter of my life with Astoria is officially over.

Where am I supposed to go now? There's no way I can go back to my parents in such a state. Mum would probably cry for days if she found out what I have done. Father probably wouldn't speak to me again. The disappointment they would both express toward me would be the worst of all – completely gutting me. Rock bottom is a dark and confusing place to be and I'm lying flat on my back there, looking up at where I used to be. At this point there is only one place for me to go.

Holding tight to my trunk, I Disapparate and arrive where I need to be. The stairs of the apartment building are not exactly friendly to those who have to drag heavy trunks about, so I take the lift to the correct floor. Once I finally reach the door I want, I simply lean my head against it.

_All you're good for is having sex and getting high._

Why are those words haunting me so intensely? Perhaps there is a part of me that believes it to be true. Maybe it is true. What else have I managed to do with my life? Was there more than angry words behind it after all? Another thing that is eating away at me – possibly more than anything else – is how I could be so pathetic. I thought that she truly loved me and I clung to that. How pathetic could I be to even care about something so sentimental? It shouldn't bother me at all to learn she doesn't love me. But it does. Am I really so impossible to love or am I simply looking in the wrong place? On the other side of this door is the one person who has always loved me, but I ignored. Perhaps I should have more of an open mind.

Knocking on the door, I am immediately greeted by Blaise Zabini – the only person to ever give a single fuck about me. He doesn't even greet me. He looks me up and down and, upon spotting my trunk, reaches over to grab it. Dragging my trunk inside, he motions for me to follow him in. Instead of leaving the trunk to sit in the corner, he takes it into his bedroom. Following him back, I watch him very carefully. I can still feel the effects of the speed and my adrenaline is still pumping from the drama.

"So, should I ask or just let it go?" Blaise asks, sitting down on the edge of his bed and looking up at me curiously. There is no doubt that I look a complete mess.

"It's really not all that important," I mumble. "I'd rather not think about it. Besides, I'm here now. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The speed moves my legs across the room toward the bed. He looks suspicious of my movements and there is even a part of my own mind, the part that is not under the control of a terrible monster in powder form, that has no idea what I'm doing. However, that part of me is never strong enough to do a thing and is forced to watch instead. My hand pushes against Blaise's chest, forcing him onto his back as I awkwardly climb onto him.

"Draco, what are you doing?" his eyes are wide with emotions – fear, confusion, and lust.

"What you've wanted me to do for years."

Straddling is hips, I lean forward and press my lips to the pulse point of his neck. His body is tense with trepidation, but I can feel his heart racing underneath my hand. Speed slides my hands up underneath his shirt, travelling up to his chest. His breathing is quickening as he watches in fascination. Shifting my body so that I am lying flat against him, I push myself into him forcefully. My brain is screaming at me to stop this nonsense, but my body is driven further on. Lips and tongue – wet kisses placed sloppily about every spot on his neck. Firm hands lift to grip tightly to my hips.

"Draco," he sighs breathlessly. However, as if the sound of my name on his lips sparked a sense of urgency, he pushes me back slightly so that my mouth is ripped away from his dark skin. His eyes search mine as if he is expecting to find something foreign there. "We have to stop this."

"Why?" I whisper, forcing my voice to be as seductive as I can manage. "Don't you want me? I know you do. You always have. Well, I'm right here, Blaise. _Take me._"

A passionate moan sounds deep within his throat and his eyes flutter closed. I take this opportunity to bring my lips to his. He makes a startled sound against my mouth before I feel his entire body melt. His mouth opens and his tongue slithers into my mouth. Hands are moving about frantically over my body – pulling my hair, rubbing over my back, gripping my arse, and sliding up my shirt. Despite the part of me that wants to fight against this, it feels wonderful. His true feelings for me are so obvious with every touch.

"Mmph," Blaise groans into the kiss, but it wasn't a sensual noise. He pulls away from me again, holding me at arm's length in order to observe me thoroughly. "Wait, stop."

"Aren't you tired of waiting?" I whimper.

"This isn't _you_, Draco. I know it's not. You wouldn't do this. Please, just tell me what's going on?"

All of the adrenaline is gone and my bizarre lustful hunger gone with it. It is as if someone threw a bucket of cold water on me, waking me up from a dream. Should I tell him the whole story? He truly loves me, surely he wouldn't judge me. Surely he won't see me differently. Perhaps he's the only one who wouldn't. I roll off of him, but still cuddle up close to his side, and begin to explain the entire gruesome story. There is no disappointment or judgment in his eyes – only concern and the familiar affection that has always shown right there.

He doesn't say a word until I am finished, and even then he only says, "You should get some rest. Here, stay here and sleep for a while."

Grateful for his kind and understanding reaction, I agree to try to sleep. Unfortunately my brain is still too wired to allow such luxuries. Blaise leaves me alone to sleep and after a while I begin to hear voices. I lie there motionless, pretending to sleep while listening intently to the conversation being had nearby – the conversation being had about me.

"Is that all you can say?" Blaise's irritated voice carries through the air.

"Well, what would you like me to say, Blaise?" Pansy Parkinson's voice is immediately recognizable.

"Something a bit more thoughtful, perhaps? Aren't you concerned he could die from a drug overdose or something!?"

"Ugh, that's such a Muggle way to die."

"Stop it, Pansy! This is serious! This drug is dangerous and he needs our help! If you don't want to help, then fine, you can just leave!"

"Fine. If you want me to help, then this is what I have to say – there's no way that you're going to fix him on your own. There's no way that we can fix him. We both know that there is only one person who could possibly straighten him out."

I continue to lie there, seemingly floating on their words. Part of me is irritated, but at the same time, I know that I need help. However, I'm not so sure I feel comfortable with whatever method of help they are planning for me. Who the hell are they talking about?


	8. Chapter 7 - The Favor

Harry Potter – Sunday, July 2nd, 2000

It has been a little over two weeks since I first met Arlene Devon in Godric's Hollow. I have returned to visit her a couple of times, but have yet to bring her good news in regards to my life-changing whatever-it-is. Arlene assures me not to be disheartened – I shouldn't expect something as huge and important as this to hit me overnight. However, she also assures me that she senses it will be here soon. Certainly hoping she is right, because I'm quite eager to know what changes are in store as well as eager to get my life turned around. Being resentful all the time is exhausting and I'm sick of it. I want something more out of my life than this.

In the meantime, I have made much more of an effort to make my friendship with Hermione more of a priority. Arlene was right about Hermione – she may not understand _exactly_ what I'm going through, but she has been by my side all this time and she cares about me enough to put up with all of my bullshit. How could I possibly turn my back on someone like that?

The best thing about Sunday mornings is the peaceful feel of everywhere and everyone. Sunday is a day that everyone can relax and be together. Hermione has decided that this morning is the perfect day to do all the things she says she's going to do during the week, but ends up being too busy for. This begins with redecorating.

Every few months she feels the need to add or alter the apartment – changing the throw pillows on the sofa, changing the flowers on the end table, getting new pictures in the frames, etc. Currently she has left to pick up new flowers and visit Luna's jewelry shop – Luna sells all sorts of random jewelry that she creates. I have been left here alone to attempt to pick a new color scheme – as if I have any idea how to do that – and choose which pictures I want to keep and which ones I don't.

A knock on the door saves me from any painful decision making. I rush to answer it, relieved not to have to think about color schemes and throw pillows anymore. It's probably best to leave that to Hermione anyway. As long as my bedroom looks the way I want, I don't care about what she does to the rest of the place. Pulling the door open, my shock is clearly displayed on my face when Blaise Zabini is standing on the other side.

"Hello, Potter," he greets me in a rush. "Can we talk? It's urgent."

Urgent? How the hell am I supposed to refuse that? I nod, holding the door open for him and allow him to walk in past me. "What's this all about? What do you mean urgent?"

His face is tense with undeterminable emotions. He keeps his hands clenched in tight fists as he begins to pace back and forth across the living room. "I have no idea where to even start."

"Anywhere that gives me a clue would be nice."

"Listen, this is a bit of a sensitive subject and I'm telling you this in confidence."

"Would you just get on with it?" I cannot help but be impatient in my curiosity. Blaise Zabini has never spoken one word to me before. And now suddenly he's in my living room with a sensitive and urgent topic of conversation. My heart races slightly. This is unusual and unexpected – just as Arlene had warned me about. _Keep an open mind, Harry. Allow the thing you need to come to you._ My intuition is spurring my sense of curiosity and excitement. This is it. It has to be.

"About two months ago, Draco and I were out at this club and he went home with a girl. But he never came back and I didn't hear from him. He packed up his stuff in the middle of the night and left the manor – his parents are _still_ in a complete panic. He showed up at my place last night and told me where he's been. It turns out that this girl got him addicted to meth."

My stomach lurches and my eyes widen significantly. Draco never seemed the type to get caught up in that sort of mess. The excitement I had felt before is dwindling now.

"I'm worried that it's only going to get worse and possibly kill him if it continues. But I don't know what to do. If I try to reason with him he only gets angry with me and I can't deal with that."

"And you expect that he will listen to _me?_"

"I can't handle it. I can't take it when he's upset with me and I can't take it when he's in pain. The entire process of convincing him to get better and then actually getting him better is more than I can bear. Pansy is no help whatsoever in anything. And his parents still have no idea what's going on with him. There's no one else. You're the only person I can think of who could possibly help him and you can definitely handle it if he gets angry with you."

"Uh, well, I –"

"Listen, Potter, I am not a fool. I know of your past history with Draco and I know that you probably don't care much about what's happening to him, but this is extremely important. I wouldn't be here, practically begging you for help, if it wasn't necessary. I don't want you to answer now. I want you to think on it for a while." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper and hands it to me. "This is where I live and Draco is staying there with me. If you decide that you are willing to help, just come by. Potter, please consider it. You're the only chance he has."

Blaise exits the apartment before my brain can even put together a proper response. I stare down at the address. What the hell just happened? Is he completely mad? There's no way that Draco Malfoy would listen to me! This entire thing is ridiculous.

_Keep an open mind, Harry, _Arlene's words circle in my mind again. _Your instincts will lead you right._

Draco. Draco. _Draco._ I keep repeating his name over and over again as if, somehow, it may describe what I am feeling or tell me what to do. What the hell am I supposed to do? Is this really the thing I've been waiting for? Or is it something else? _Ugh!_ What do I do!?

An hour or two of thinking and debating pass by – as I lie on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling – until Hermione finally returns. Three bundles of flowers and two shopping bags are clutched in her arms. However, as soon as she sees me, she sets them down and walks over to kneel by my side.

"Harry?" she whispers softly as if she is unsure whether or not it is wise to disturb me.

I turn my head to the side to look at her, but don't say anything.

"Harry, are you alright? What happened?" Leave it to Hermione to always know when something's happened.

Struggling to sit up, I choose my words carefully. Hermione remains kneeling on the floor in front of me, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity. I stare absent-mindedly at the flowers that she had set down as I speak. "I had a visit from Blaise Zabini while you were gone."

Her eyes widen momentarily in surprise. "Well, that's not a name we hear very often – or ever, actually. What did he want?"

I sigh heavily and make direct eye contact with her. "He told me that Draco is addicted to meth."

"_What!?_" she exclaims, her voice higher-pitched than usual. "Oh my – Harry, do you have any idea how dangerous that drug _is_!?"

"No, not really. But apparently it's gotten out of hand and Blaise thinks that I'm the only one who can help him get better."

All shock, concern, and curiosity vanish from Hermione's face. She frowns. "Aren't you the one who told me months ago that Draco was not our responsibility? He got himself into this. Besides, why on earth would Draco Malfoy listen to _you?_"

"Actually," I start, hesitating before finishing, "I think I'm going to do it."

"What? Why? You said he wasn't your responsibility. You said you shouldn't have to fix him. Or was that a different Harry in Diagon Alley that day?"

"No, it was me. And if you recall, I also said that I thought he'd be _fine._"

Hearing my own words causes my mind to process the state Draco must be in right now. He is definitely far from fine. Judging by the way he looked that day in Diagon Alley, I would have never predicted that only a short couple months later, he'd have fallen quite so far. Coming back to reality, I notice that Hermione is staring at me with an expression I can't really identify. However, it is clear that she does not understand my decision and she probably is fighting the urge to talk me out of it. This seems like the proper moment for a premature counter-attack.

"Remember when I said that you have your books and everyone else seems to have their own special thing?"

Her eyebrows furrow, confused as to why I would choose now to bring this up. "Yeah?"

"Up until now this has always been my thing. For as long as I've been in the Wizarding world, there have been people who needed me for something. People _needed_ me to kill the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Sirius _needed_ me to go back in time to save him from the dementors. Cedric _needed_ me to bring his body back. Everyone _needed _me to destroy Voldemort. There was always something different, but there was always someone who _needed_ me. Now that the war is over, nobody needs me anymore."

The expression in her face is clear now – she seems genuinely sad for me. "H-Harry –"

"No, it's not a feel-sorry-for-me thing, it's just the truth. Nobody needs me anymore and I can't help but feel a little useless. But now, Blaise needs me, Draco needs me. I know that it isn't my responsibility, but they are asking for my help. I can't just walk away."

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I've been sitting here for hours trying to make a decision, my mind going back and forth. Every time I came up with a reason not to do it, my mind kept coming back to the same old thing. Draco needs help. What if I refused to help him and something bad happened? What if he died and I could have stopped it if I wasn't so stubborn? I couldn't live with that."

For a moment, she looks as if she is about to argue, so I hurry on…

"I have been searching for too long now for that _thing_ – that life-changing thing. And I have come up empty-handed every time. Arlene told me that if I stopped searching it would come to me on its own. She told me that it would be unexpected and that I would need to keep an open mind. What if this is it!? What if this is what I've been looking for all this time? How am I supposed to pass it up without even trying? What if the one thing that can fix _me_ and fix my _life, _I just walked away from?"

The debate going on in her mind is displayed on her face and I watch in suspense. Personally, I feel as though I've made enough positive points to counter any argument she may have. Perhaps that is why she looks so flustered – she cannot think of a proper reason for me not to go through with this either. Finally, a look of defeat crosses over her face and I know that she has given up. I wait, unsure what she will decide to say. However, I huge smile spreads across my face when she finally says:

"I can do some research for you if you like."

After a few hours of Hermione doing research about meth and explaining every detail she found useful to me, I took my new information and headed to the address that Blaise gave me. However, now that I'm standing outside his door, I find myself hesitant to actually go through with this. Leaning against the wall out in the empty corridor, the sounds of a man and woman arguing make their way out from the door next to me. Feeling slightly nosy, I strain to listen in on a conversation that is none of my business.

"This has nothing to do with you, Zabini!" the woman's voice screeched angrily. "This is between me and Draco and nobody else!"

"You're the one who got him addicted to this shit without even a care for the harm it would do to him!" Blaise growled back at her. "If you think for a second that I would let him go anywhere with you, you belong in St. Mungo's with ol' Lockhart."

"You have _no_ idea what you're talking about!"

"I don't care! You're _not_ taking him! Just get out, Astoria."

My brain screams at me to get out of there _now_, but before I can escape down the hall and back down the stairs, the apartment door swings open, exposing me to the people inside. The woman glares at me for a second before storming past me to leave. Blaise, looking surprised yet relieved to see me, motions for me to come inside. Silently agreeing, I enter the apartment and close the door behind me.

"Well, that was Astoria," Blaise said with a slight edge to it. "She's the whore who ruins lives that I told you about before."

"Well, she was, um – pretty, I guess," I say awkwardly, unsure what to say about someone like that in a situation like this.

"Yes, and particularly classy," he replies with a sharp sarcasm. "So, you decided to come."

"Yes, I did. Where's Draco?"

"He's back in my bedroom. Actually, I'm a bit worried about him. He fell asleep there last night and he's been asleep ever since."

Searching through the information Hermione had just given me, I come up with the proper explanation. "Well, he's probably crashing."

"What?"

"Oh, well, he hasn't taken any more of the drug in a while, so he's probably crashing now. His body is overwhelmed by the drug effects and it's shutting down. He could be asleep for another day or two."

"Safe to assume you told Granger about all of this, then."

For a moment, I am almost offended that he automatically assumes that I couldn't be smart enough to know this information without Hermione – but that moment passes quickly as I'm simply amused by it. Instead I nod, "She did a lot of research for me."

"So what's going to happen when he finally wakes up?"

"He'll be a mess – hungry, exhausted, ill. This is where it will be extremely important for us to make sure he stays away from anyone who can supply him with more drugs. This could last anywhere from two to fourteen days I believe and I have no way of knowing which it will be for him specifically. You said he's only been using for about two months, so there's good chance that it won't be too long or too extreme for him once he slips into withdrawal."

"In the meantime, I think it might be a good idea for you to move in here temporarily. Before you say anything, yes, I do know how bizarre that is. But he's going to need to be watched over constantly. It would just be easier if you were always here."

"There's only one problem – what if he wakes up and refuses to let me help him?"

"You're going to have to be persistent. Besides, it sounds like it will be weeks before he is actually human enough to make a legitimate decision for himself anyway."


	9. Chapter 8 - Defeated

Draco Malfoy – Saturday, July 15th, 2000

A little over a week ago, I woke up to find Harry Potter sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, fumbling around with potion bottles and such. When he noticed that I was awake, he told me that he was here to help me. Of course, I did not take kindly to this news. Over the past week, I've been in a bit of a state of "hangover" from my crash and had no strength to argue with him. So I ignored him, refusing his help and hoping he would go away, but he never left. Every day he would continue to come in and check on me and plead with me to "quit being so stubborn."

Unfortunately, my strength against him is crumbling underneath me now that I have slipped into withdrawal. Depression is threatening to consume me with a vengeance. My body and mind are weak and exhausted. Most of the time I cannot force my body out of bed and I spend the majority of the time asleep. This also means that my nightmares have returned and now they are more vivid than ever before. Almost every part of me is begging for more speed – something to make the terrible symptoms subside, but Potter and Blaise are constantly watching me and making sure I stay clean.

Potter is the one who is around most of the time, while Blaise is off working. He never fails to attempt to convince me to give in, but that only makes me more irritated. However, I cannot simply get rid of him no matter how hard I try. Luckily, while he is driving me mad with his persistence, he also brings me food and water, reads me articles from the _Daily Prophet_, and always brings me anything that I ask for. He never leaves my side for more than ten minutes and has even taken to falling asleep in a chair next to the bed.

At the moment, Potter is sitting in that exact chair, staring at me while I flip through an issue of _The Quibbler_ that he had brought me. Nothing in these pages makes any sense to me, but I pretend to read it anyway to avoid eye contact with him. His eyes are burning into my skin.

"You've been reading that same exact page for twenty minutes," Potter mutters quietly, clearly catching on to my tricks. When I finally look up at him, his eyes are calm but concerned. "How are you feeling? You look awful."

"Well, I look the way I feel, you git." What a stupid question for him to ask! How am I feeling? My head is screaming at me partly from pain and partly from an evil need. My entire body aches. A thin layer of sweat covers my skin. At any random moment I will break out into a fit of violent shivering. I feel as if I could vomit, but so far have managed to avoid it. There is a powerful part of me that wishes I were dead, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I look over to see Potter watching me.

"Do you need me to get you anything else?" he asks, glancing over at the nightstand where a small potion bottle, a half-empty glass of water, and an empty plate clutter the surface.

A strange voice in the back of my mind desperately wanted to ask him to come closer – that all I needed was for him to lay in the bed with me. Pride would never let such words leave my lips. "No. I don't need anything."

Potter doesn't say anything else, but continues to stare intently at my face. What could possibly be going through his mind that he would stare at me like that? Merlin, I hope he can't read my mind. I would probably die from embarrassment if he could. Because then he would know. He would know that I loved him. I loved him so much that it terrified me, consumed me, tortured me. Somewhere in my mind I've always known that to be true, but I was swimming so deep in denial that I couldn't see the sun shining on the surface.

"Draco?" Potter finally says. "Can I ask you something?"

I consider making a sarcastic comment, but simply nod instead.

"Why did you start doing this drug in the first place?"

All of my words lodge in my throat, choking me. There was so much to say – so much that I was thinking and feeling that I could never properly explain. Bottled up inside me for all this time. Couldn't possibly let it escape for fear of never being able to contain it again. I wanted to say it – _needed_ to say it – but my jaw clenched tight. Staring into the most impossibly green eyes I have ever seen, my heart melts until all of the pain seems to melt away with it.

"Astoria told me that it would help me," I finally tell him. Embarrassed. Ashamed. But there is no judgment in his eyes. "She said that it would make the pain and regret go away. Instead it just gave me one more thing to regret. But I couldn't stop. To be honest, I'm not sure I really wanted to."

"Didn't you care that it could've killed you?"

"You know, it's funny – I took the Mark because I wanted to live, but ever since then I've been ready to die."

We sit there in silence as I watch my words settle in his eyes. Eventually he finally looks away from me and reaches toward the nightstand for the potion bottle. He pops the top off of it and holds it out to me.

"Drink this," he commands softly.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a special Cleansing Potion that I got from Hermione. It will clean out the drug impurities from your system. It will break your addiction and ease the withdrawal symptoms."

"I don't have an addiction! I'm fine!" I growl at him bitterly, unwilling to admit to him of all people how destroyed I have become.

"_Right_. Just drink it."

"I'm not drinking that shit! I don't _need_ it! Just forget it!"

His eyes are soft and it makes my heart ache for him. _Don't think like that, Draco!_ a voice in the back of my mind hisses at me. _You cannot have those feelings! You're a Malfoy! You belong with a proper, pureblood witch! _Those haunting words make me look away from him. I've been fighting this – fighting him – for years, there is no way I can let go now. Besides, how could he possibly want me after what I've done to myself.

"I know you're in a lot of pain," Potter's voice is quiet. It soothes me deep down to my soul if there is such a thing. "We're all in a lot of pain, Draco. But you can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not going to make it go away."

My eyes start to burn and tears are threatening to expose me. I quickly turn my face away from him, hoping he won't be able to see.

"You can hide your face from me all you want, but I see you. I see right through you." He pauses, most likely waiting for me to look at him, but I continue to hide my face, ashamed that I would let my emotions take so much control of me. "Draco, look at me! Why don't you care that you're slowly killing yourself with this shit!?"

"What difference does it make?" I mumble, still hiding my face. "I was supposed to die years ago anyway. I might as well party and have fun until the end."

"You think this is _fun_!?" His voice sounds slightly angry now. "You don't fool me. You're not doing this to have fun. You're doing this because you can't face your past!"

"You don't know _ANYTHING!_" I shout at him, whirling my head around to glare at him. However, my body remains curled up in a ball on the bed in its own pathetic world.

He stands up from his chair and towers over me. "I don't know anything!? I don't know what it's like to lose people that I loved!? I don't know what it's like to be caught up in a war!? You're going to sit there and tell me that I don't know what you're going through!?"

"It's not the same for you! You're the fucking hero! The Chosen One! You have no reason to regret the decisions you made! So just leave me the fuck alone!" I make an attempt to get up off the bed and storm out of the room, but Potter grabs me around my waist and pulls me back down onto the bed, the both of us collapsing on top of each other into the pillows.

"Draco," Potter's voice is desperate in my ear as his arms are wrapped tightly around me and the potion bottle is still clutched in his hand near my face. "I am _not_ going to let you kill yourself, you _will not_ die, I _won't_ let it happen! Please, Draco – let me help you."

His words strike up a sharp pain in my chest.

_Draco, years ago I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you._

My body relaxes back into Potter's, my head falling back to rest on his shoulder – defeated. He slowly lifts the potion bottle to my lips. Exhausted and hopeless, I simply open my mouth and let the potion drip down my throat. The potion causes a flow of heat to trickle through every inch of my body, abolishing the terrible aching. I moan slightly at the relief from the pain. Finally some form of relief. Allowing my body to sink into Potter's, who does not seem to be attempting to pull away, I breathe in his scent.

"Is that better?" he asks, his mouth dangerously close to touching my ear.

"_So_ much better," I moan, unsure if I'm talking about the ease of pain or his suddenly extreme closeness. Not that he needs to know that of course. Closing my eyes, I pretend as if I'm falling asleep when really I simply want an excuse to stay in his arms without him knowing really why. He seems to be tense and uncomfortable, but he continues to hold me anyway.

As soon as he believes that I'm asleep, his body relaxes and he rests his head against mine. His lips are in my hair and the soft sound of his breathing is in my ear. This is probably the most relaxed I have ever been. Everything about him is incredible – the way his body feels, the way his breathing sounds, the way he smells – it all has my head reeling. The most important thing for me to remember right now is to keep my composure. I would probably die if he ever knew what was going through my mind.

Potter's body tenses once more as the sound of the front door opens and closes. After a moment, the weight of another body presses down upon the bed next to me. Another hand finds its way over my face and it takes more strength than I would have thought necessary in order to keep from reacting.

"How's he doing?" Blaise asks in a low whisper.

"He _finally_ took the Cleansing Potion," Potter whispers back. "Not without putting up quite a fuss about it though."

"I notice you two are in quite a different position than you were when I left." The jealousy in his voice was sharp to my ears, but Potter was oblivious.

"Well, like I said, he put up a fuss about the potion. Then he just fell asleep and I didn't want to wake him up."

"At least he finally took the potion. That's a great start. This means the drugs are out of his system now, right?"

"Yeah. He'll still have a bit of withdrawal, but the symptoms won't be nearly as bad as they would have been without the potion. What do you want me to do with him?"

Blaise sighs heavily. No doubt he wants to take Potter's place, but manages to resist. "Nothing. Just let him sleep for now."

There is a long stretch of silence as I can feel both of them staring at me. Forcing myself not to move, I listen carefully for any sign of movement. I wish I knew what Potter is thinking. He is still resting his head against mine. His warm, clean scent is overwhelming my heart. Luckily, Blaise's intense gaze keeps me from acting upon the foreign feelings that I'm experiencing.

The potion that Potter gave me has spread throughout my body and flushed out all traces of the meth by now. The aching my whole body had been overwhelmed by mere moments before has faded away completely, but my body still feels heavy and tired. My head is still a bit dizzy, but the room isn't spinning as before. The craving that I have is more emotional than physical now. However, the longer I spend with that warm breath against my neck, the more the cravings diminish.

"Do you think he's going to be alright?" Blaise's voice whispers throughout the room. I can feel him brush hair away from my face and I have to struggle not to react to the touch.

"He has a lot to struggle through," Potter responds slowly. "It would be foolish to think that it will be easy for him. But I think that he can handle this. He's stronger than he thinks he is. Although, he is going to need our help, no matter how much he tries to resist it."

"I don't think I ever really thanked you for agreeing to do this. I know that it probably isn't the way you wanted to spend your time and I'm sure he hasn't made it any easier on you."

"I wouldn't have agreed to this if I didn't think that I could handle anything that Draco dishes out. Besides, this is important to me that I see this through."

"Why is it so important to you?" The suspicion in Blaise's voice is thick, causing Potter to hesitate before answering.

"It's kind of a long story. I'm not really sure how to explain it. It doesn't really matter. The point is that I'm not giving up on this."

Emotions churn in my stomach, causing a strange fluttering feeling. His words chill me. Of course, part of me is suspicious as to what this supposed _long story_ is that makes him so determined to stay with me. However, I know that will simply drive me mad to dwell on it, so I focus on the fact that he said he is not going to give up. He's going to stay with me until he is certain that I'm better and that touches me in an unexplainable way.

"Well, luckily, that potion is going to help immensely. Maybe it won't take nearly as long as we thought it would," Blaise suggests.

Frowning internally at my friend's suggestion, I have to force myself not to respond. It doesn't surprise me that Blaise wants me to get better sooner so that Potter leaves sooner – Blaise wants it to just be the two of us, despite the fact that _he's_ the one who brought Potter into this in the first place. I wonder if Potter is equally as eager for me to get better so that he can leave.

"I'm sure he'll be back to normal in no time," Potter assures him. "And once he is I'm sure he'll be begging me to go back home even more so than he is now."

Even though his comment had an amused tone, it's also clear that he believed it to be true. Perhaps it would have been true had I not heard him say it. I want him to stay – more than I'm willing to admit even to myself – but I don't think that I would be able to bring myself to tell him that. It does strike up an interesting thought in my mind. Once I am completely better, there will be no excuse for him to stay – will I ever see him again after he leaves?

The thought frustrates me more than anything else and I bitterly push it away. Blaise and Potter continue to whisper back and forth about me and the situation at hand as I begin to truly slip into sleep. My body is heavy and it feels as though I'm melting into Potter underneath me as my mind no longer processes what it going on around me. The only thing I can focus on is the faint hum of Potter's voice and his breath against my skin before my dreams take over my mind.


	10. Chapter 9 - Persistent

Harry Potter – Sunday, July 16th, 2000

As my eyes flutter open, still struggling to pull myself out of my dreams, I notice that my vision isn't blurry as I always know to expect it to be. I must have fallen asleep with my glasses on by accident. That's when I take notice of the fact that I'm still lying on the bed with Draco asleep in my arms. He feels admittedly good against me – his body his heavy against mine, his skin is soft and warm, his hair tickles my face, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is strangely comforting. Unsure what to think about that revelation, I quickly discard it from my mind.

Draco's body pushes back hard against me as he squirms his way back into consciousness. Refusing to move, I wait until he is fully awake to process his surroundings. Eventually, with a small yawn, he twists his head around to look up at me. For only a short moment, a smile spreads across his face and he allows his head to rest against me – but almost immediately, as if realizing his own actions, the smile disappears and he practically jumps away from me. He avoids eye contact with me, as if embarrassed and hopeful that I didn't notice.

"Good morning – or afternoon I guess," I mutter awkwardly as he stares down at his hands. He simply nods in response. Both of us clearly uncomfortable, there is no way we can stand to stay in this room together for another day. "So, how are you feeling? Do you think you'd want to go out today?"

This causes him to finally look at me, slight surprise displayed on his features. "Out? You mean you'd actually let me leave this apartment?"

"If you think you can handle it, sure. I mean, there's no reason to keep you locked up if you feel strong enough to get out and walk around. We could go to Diagon Alley and maybe get some ice cream or something?"

Draco watches me for a minute, seemingly questioning my sincerity. "Um, sure, it might be nice to get out of this room for a while."

"Why don't you go take a shower first and I'll send an owl to Blaise to let him know that we might not be here when he gets back."

He nods and silently exits the bedroom to shower. After a moment of staring at the empty doorway, I search through the apartment for something to write with. I can hear the water running in the other room, signaling to me that Draco is officially in the shower. The idea causes an unusual knot in my stomach. Still unfamiliar with the rest of Blaise's apartment, it takes almost ten minutes to find what I need. Focusing on my note to explain our absence, I ignore all thoughts about Draco as I finish it until I hear his voice calling me from the bathroom.

"Potter, get in here!" Draco demands.

With an exhausted groan, I drag myself toward the bathroom and push the door open. Warm steam tumbles out of the room and envelops me as I force my way blindly through it. Unable to see almost anything, I call out into the steam to where I know Draco must be hidden somewhere in the middle of. "Draco, what do you want?"

"I forgot to grab a towel," he explains with an irritated tone. "I need you to get one for me."

"From where?"

"Ugh, they're in the closet by the kitchen!"

Rolling my eyes at his impatient tone, my body moves toward the kitchen closet despite my brain telling me to just leave him to solve his own problem. The top shelf in the closet is stuffed with black or green towels. _That figures._ Pulling down two black towels – one for Draco and one for me – I hear a faint _thud_ from the bathroom. The towels are both clutched tightly in my hands as I carry them back to the bathroom. The water is still running and the steam is still thick, but Draco is no longer in the shower. He stands in the middle of the room, unashamed by his nakedness, holding out his hand for one of the towels. My stomach flips violently and I need to take a deep, steadying breath to maintain my composure as I hold one of the towels out to him.

"Left the water on if you're going to jump in," Draco mumbles absent-mindedly as he rubs the towel over his body to dry himself off. Did he expect me to just undress right here in front of him? When he arches a challenging brow at me, the answer is yes. "Something wrong?"

"N-no, why would there be anything wrong?" I stammer, suddenly self-conscious of everything about myself, but unwilling to let him see the weakness in fear he would pounce at the opportunity to tear me down.

"No reason I can think of." Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stares me down expectantly. The git is baiting me. He knows that I'm feeling self-conscious and he doesn't believe that I will go through with it.

Unfortunately, this only fuels an irritation-inspired determination to prove to him that he can't break me and convince me to leave. Refusing to break eye contact with him, I grip my shirt tight and pull it up over my head. The shirt drops to the floor and I have to readjust my glasses. Draco is still watching me intently, an infuriating smirk on his face. I'm relieved that my face remains blank, not giving me away as my heart pounds with anxiety in my now exposed chest. Draco's jaw clenches tightly as my hands move down to unbutton my jeans, but he manages to keep eye contact. I slip my thumbs under my jeans and boxers and pull them both down.

"I'll only be a few minutes," I tell him casually, grateful that my voice doesn't crack. "Feel free to go get ready."

His eyes widen at the confidence I appeared to have, oblivious to the fact that it was an act, which gave me a strong sense of satisfaction. Desperate to hold on to the advantage, I break the eye contact and shove my way past him, stepping into the shower. Finally hidden by the shower curtain and blanketed by hot water, my anxiety washes away and pools down the drain as I hear him exit the room to get dressed. A small tinge of pride finds its way in as I think about what I just did – not to mention the look on his face. If he wants to try to mess with me to get me to leave, I can beat him at his own game.

Part of me finds it difficult to believe that _this_ – that _he_ – is what I've been looking for all this time to turn my life around. What if my intuition was wrong? A heavy sigh escapes my mouth and echoes inside the shower as I scrub soap over my body. There's no way I'm ready to give up that easily. How could I allow myself to fall back into the life I've been living – unhappy and isolated, hurting my friends, letting my bitterness consume everything that I am – I can't bear to live that way anymore.

"Potter?" Draco's voice is soft and nervous-sounding, but I can tell that he's standing right outside the shower.

"D-Draco, what's wrong?" I stammer, slightly startled by his sudden appearance with only a thin curtain between us.

"I'm not sure that going out is a great idea anymore."

Rinsing out my hair, I sigh at him, "What are you talking about? I thought you said that it would be nice to get out for a while."

"I-I know, but –" He stops as I turn the water off and yank the curtain open. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, but I'm too confused by his words to worry about it.

Grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my waist, I stare at him intensely, hoping to see through whatever façade he has on now to find out what's going on. "But what?"

"Are you sure that it's a good idea for us to go out in public together?"

"That's what you're worried about? You don't want to be seen with me?"

"No!" he replies immediately. "That's not what I meant. I just meant that – well – it can't be good when the _Daily Prophet_ publishes an article on the front page – _Golden Boy, Harry Potter, Takes on a Charity Case _– or – _Chosen One Spotted with Death Eater._"

After a long moment of staring at him in puzzled disbelief, I finally see the vulnerability in his eyes that he is trying to hide from me. "Draco, I have never cared about those ridiculous articles. The _Prophet_ is always publishing whatever rubbish they come up with just to help it sell and get a rise out of everyone. I never pay attention to it and neither should you. If I was worried about what others would think about me helping you, I wouldn't have agreed to do it."

"Oh, yeah? Does anyone besides Granger know that you're here with me?" His eyebrow is raised as if he already knows the answer.

"Well, no, but –"

"I didn't think so."

"Whoa, slow down. Just because I haven't told anybody doesn't mean I'm ashamed of what I'm doing! Besides, I thought you'd be the one to want to keep this a secret. I'm sure you don't want the entire world knowing what exactly I'm helping you _with_, do you?"

"_No!_"

"Then just relax! Forget about the _Prophet_. Forget about Hermione. Forget about everything. I'm not the Chosen One. You're not a Death Eater. I'm not a hero. You're not a villain. We're just us. Harry and Draco. And right now Harry is starving, so can Draco pull himself together so that we can go get something to eat?"

He watches me for a moment then tries to suppress a laugh. "Yes, alright, fine. You might want to put some clothes on first. That would definitely make the front page."

"Oh, shove off."

"Harry Potter Towel Advertisements, perhaps?" He gestures his hands up and down my body, making his voice higher pitched and animated, "_Get the towel the Chosen One uses! It's the one towel to choose!_"

"Shut _up!_" I yell, pushing him out of the bathroom while trying to hide my laughter. Slamming the door with him on the other side, I finally allow my smile to spread across my face. Drying off my body and pulling my clothes on, I can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen. He shouts to me to hurry up – give or take a profanity – and so I quickly spell my hair dry before heading out to meet him. Draco is leaning casually against the front door with his arms folded across his chest, chewing lightly at his bottom lip. "Alright, let's go."

We head out together and Apparate to Diagon Alley. Because it's the weekend the cobbled road is busy with people and the shops are equally bustling with customers. Draco is walking unnervingly close to me as we make our way through the crowd. His anxiety is thick in the air around us as he avoids looking at all of the passersby – who, as expected, are staring, pointing, and whispering as we pass them. I guide him into a nearby restaurant that seems relatively safe – most people are too busy shopping to worry about food yet. Draco sits down at a table near the back, as far away from the windows of curious eyes as possible.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Whatever."

"Alright, then. I'll just go ask for two of my usual orders."

"Come here often then, do you?"

"I eat here every day when I'm working. I'll be right back. Don't run off or anything." Part of me secretly hopes that he won't be there when I return, but I know that I'd go mad searching for him if he wasn't. I walk up to the bar counter where the owner's daughter is working. "Hey, Lydia! How's it going?"

"Harry!" Lydia exclaims. "You haven't been in here in a while. Where have you been?"

"I've been on a bit of a break from work while I deal with some personal issues." I gesture back over to the table where Draco is still sitting, however he is no longer alone. A large, dirty-looking man is now leaning over the table whispering to him.

"Oh, Merlin!" Lydia's voice draws me back to my own conversation. When I turn back to her, she is gawking at Draco with a lustful admiration. "Where did you find him? I want one!"

"Oh, you know, just picked him up at the local pet store," I murmur dully, slightly irritated by her interest in him.

"_Really!?_" Her eyes are wide and I can actually feel my heart sink with how ashamed I am of her at this moment. _How did I ever have a thing for her?_

"_No!_" Resisting the urge to shake my head, I quickly change the subject. "Look, it's really important that I get back over there. Can you bring us two of my usual, please?"

"Sure thing, Harry."

"Thanks." Walking slowly back to the table, I am very careful not to be noticed by Draco, whose back is to me, as I listen in on the conversation he's having with the strange man.

"Come on, I've got an eight ball I can sell you right now if you're interested," the stranger tells Draco in a hushed tone. Draco's broad shoulders are tense. _An eight ball?_

"N-no, I told you, I-I'm not messing with that stuff anymore," Draco says to him.

"Damn. Astoria told me you were going to get clean, but I didn't think you could actually do it."

"Well, I did, so get lost," he growls firmly, clearly angered by the mention of his former lover.

"Draco, is there a problem?" I finally alert the two men to my presence behind them and they both turn with a start, eyes wide. Draco, if only for a short moment, looks almost relieved to see me as he glances back and forth from me to the stranger. My attention, however, moves immediately to the stranger who, from what I gathered from their conversation, is a drug supplier. I stare him down with a calculating glare.

"Harry Potter?" the dealer says with a hint of disbelief. "_You're_ with _him_?"

"Yes, I am. Is there something going on here that I should know about?"

"No, Mr. Potter, of course not. I was just leaving." He leans back toward Draco. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

I watch as the man walks away and Lydia comes up with the food and places it on the table. Sitting down in the chair next to Draco so that we can whisper without the risk of being overheard, I study his expression carefully. His eyes are hooded and his jaw is clenched tight. He begins picking at his food, avoiding eye contact with me like a child caught doing something they shouldn't be. It's not his fault that he was approached. He declined the offer and stayed strong. He has nothing to be so worried about.

"What's an eight ball?" I ask quietly, being very careful to keep my tone calm.

"It's a measurement of meth," he mutters down to his plate. "It's an eighth of an ounce."

"But you turned him down. I'm proud of you, Draco."

"Well, I don't need you to be proud of me!" he hisses viciously. His anger throws me for a moment.

"W-why are you so upset? You did a great thing!"

"This is why I didn't want you to come here! I knew that if I saw you again, I wouldn't need the drug anymore! Now I'm going to be the way I was before and you're praising me for it!"

His anger keeps me from properly processing the meaning of his words. "I-I thought that was a good thing. Why would you want to stay on a drug that could kill you?"

"You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand how the rush and the high feel. You wouldn't understand how it feels not to feel anything at all."

"You'd rather be numb than happy?"

"That's only assuming I can ever be happy. Besides, being happy is nothing more than an opportunity for more pain."


	11. Chapter 10 - Convalescent

Draco Malfoy – Wednesday, July 26th, 2000

All night long I spent wide awake, recalling the conversation that Potter and I had in Diagon Alley. How could I have blurted that out like that? Thankfully he never questioned what I said to him. We managed to avoid all forms of conversation for the remainder of the day and now he lay perfectly silent, asleep next to me in bed. The sounds of Blaise getting ready for work break through the silence as I stare at the sleeping man. Blaise has been sleeping on his sofa in the living room so that Potter and I can sleep in his bed. The thought of how selfless of a gesture that is sparks the urge for me to get up and see him. Slipping out of bed as carefully as possible, desperate not to wake Potter, I venture out into the kitchen to find Blaise.

"Morning, Blaise," I whisper to him, walking up behind him and slipping my arms lovingly around his waist and resting my head against his back.

He startles slightly but relaxes immediately and turns around to face me. "Draco, what are you doing awake so early?"

"I couldn't sleep last night." I lean forward against his chest. "Blaise, I haven't thanked you yet for everything you're doing for me. Letting me stay here, and Potter, in your bed, while you have to sleep on the sofa. You've had to put up with all my bullshit ever since we were kids and –"

"Dray, don't. You're my best friend; this is what I'm supposed to do. You're really hurting right now. I'm not abandoning you." He pauses for a long moment, his eyes scanning over my face with overwhelming affection, before his expression looks uneasy. "S-so, Potter is taking good care of you, right? Things are going well there?"

"Oh, er, yeah, I guess. I'm feeling a lot better. The Cleansing Potions have been helping a lot and I feel great. I'm surprised he hasn't left yet."

"I don't think he's just going to leave. He seems pretty determined to see this through. He says he has his own reasons for seeing this through, but he won't tell me what they are."

This stirs a vicious suspicion in the back of my mind. My thoughts are riffling through the possibilities as to what this secret would be as I barely register Blaise's fingers slipping into my hair. As I refocus on my surroundings, I feel a bit guilty. Blaise is stroking my hair and looking at me lovingly – however, the only thing I can think about is running my own fingers through jet black, messy hair. For a moment, I consider making an excuse to go back to bed and get away from my friend, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze any longer – however, his next words seem to freeze time.

"Draco, are you ever going to tell your parents where you are?" he asks, studying my reaction closely. The mention of my parents, for the first time since I've been here, shocks me. "I haven't told them anything about you, but you know that they're worried about you. It's your business, so you should be the one to tell them when you're ready, but don't you think they deserve to know that their child is alive?"

"I'm not ready to tell them, Blaise," I say firmly. "If they knew that I was doing drugs and that Harry Potter is here nursing me back to health, they'd both die of heart attacks within minutes."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Of course I do. My father would probably try to kill me before his heart gave out for what he would consider a _gross betrayal of everything our family stands for_."

"Draco, that's –"

"Don't try to tell me anything different."

"Fine. But I still think that you should tell them. You're so much better now. You've made such amazing progress so quickly. You wouldn't even have to tell them about the drugs or Potter. Just let them know that you're staying with me and that you're okay."

"I'm just not ready right now. I'll – I'll tell them eventually. But just not now."

"Okay, I know I said that it was your business, but if you don't tell them in one month, I will."

"Blaise! You can't –"

"I'm going to be late for work. I'll see you tonight." He leans in as if he's about to kiss me, but then stops just before our lips meet, realizing that it would be inappropriate, and pulls away. His gaze lingers at my lips for several seconds before he finally forces himself to walk away and out the door. Standing there thinking about what he said about my parents, I suddenly remember I am not alone in this apartment. I walk back to the bedroom to where Potter is still asleep and begin to get dressed.

Father probably would kill me if he knew that Potter was here. Perhaps he shouldn't be here then. Is Potter really worth the risk that I'm taking with my family? And what about _him_? He has come here to help me, someone who he's always hated, without seeing his own friends, for some unknown goal. What is it that could make him so willing to give up his life to stay here with me when I'm not even so sure I'd be willing to do the same? If I was willing I wouldn't be so terrified at the idea of telling my parents where I am and having them come here and see us together.

Potter stirs slightly and his eyes flutter open. Those miraculous green eyes look lazily at me and it takes me a moment to realize that I probably look blurry to him without his glasses on. He is still slightly dazed from sleep and unfocused, so I take this opportunity to ask questions.

"Morning, Potter. Going home today?"

He groans as he attempt to wake up and process my question. "Erm, no. You still trying to get rid of me?"

"Well, Blaise and I were just talking about how much progress I've made. He thinks I'm doing much better. Don't you?"

"Of course I do. But I –"

"Then I'm sure Blaise can handle things from here. So why are you still here?"

He groans again and reaches his hand around in search for his glasses. "Draco, I'm not leaving. This is important."

"Why?" My suspicion grows stronger, accompanied by irritation. "Why is this so important to you, Potter?"

He sits up completely now, finding himself fully awake. His eyes are burning into me, debating whether or not he should answer my question. "This is a bit difficult for me to explain. But ever since the war I've been a completely different person, and not a person that I like. I've been angry and depressed. And I've been feeling kind of useless, you know? I didn't have a mission anymore. So, when Blaise came to me and asked me to help you, I –"

"Oh, I get it. So this was just another good deed to make you feel good about yourself – be the hero again. I'm sure you'll run to the _Daily Prophet_ and tell them all about how you saved a Death Eater and they can praise you some more."

"No, Draco, that's _not_ it! I just –"

"Save it! I'm out of here." Irrationally angry, I storm out of the room, hearing Potter tumble out of the bed to follow me. He follows me out to the front door, but I know he can't follow me past that point without getting dressed first. "Good luck with the article. I hope it makes the front page!"

The door slams with a final, deafening _thud_. My feet carry me quickly down the hall and out into the world. Despite the Cleansing Potions, I still feel exhausted and the fast movement makes me slightly light headed. The sun is bright, giving me a headache. Perhaps I'm overreacting, but I can't help it. I should have known that he wouldn't be doing this for me – because he cared about me. No wonder he wanted to go out to Diagon Alley with me. Merlin, I'm such an idiot.

Desperate to get away from everything and everyone, I keep walking until I find myself in Muggle London, glancing through shop windows as I pass them by. Eventually something, or I should say someone, inside one of the shops catches my attention. Checking the sign above the door, I notice that the shop is selling all sorts of glass objects from vases and dinnerware to wind chimes and figurines. Through the window I can clearly see shelves and shelves of beautiful glassware of different shapes and colors, with all sorts of different designs. There is a Grand Opening sign in the window that is dated for only a few days ago. However, it's the woman behind the counter that catches my attention. Taking a deep, calming breath, I step inside, triggering a small bell to chime above the door.

"This is a beautiful shop," I say evenly. The woman freezes at the sound of my voice and slowly looks up at me, her mouth open slightly and her eyes wide.

"D-Draco?" she stammers in disbelief.

"Hello, Mother."

She hesitates for a moment, as if she isn't sure it's truly me. Slowly, very slowly, she makes her way around the counter toward me. Tears are welling in her eyes and she bites her bottom lip softly to keep from allowing her emotion to escape. She reaches her arms out toward me and, without hesitation, I walk into her embrace. After all this time being away, I realize now how much I've missed her and how shitty it was of me to disappear on her.

"Draco, sweetie, where have you _been!?_ Are you okay!? How _dare_ you just run away like that!? Do you have any idea how terrified I've been!?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just – I had to get away." And with that, something inside me broke and everything came spilling out – Astoria, the meth, the cheating, living at Blaise's with Potter – everything I never wanted to tell her came pouring out until I couldn't bear to continue without catching my breath. Mortified by my confession, I stand there in silence, completely defeated. I can't bring myself to look at her face in fear of what I might find there.

"Come with me," she whispers gently, taking my hand and dragging me toward the back room. She calls to a younger woman nearby, "Charlotte, I need a moment. Can you take care of the customers until I get back?"

"Of course, Narcissa, take your time," the lady replies politely.

Mother and I end up back in what appears to be a large room where the glassware is made and stored before being set out for sale. She sits me down on a small, maroon-colored sofa in the corner of the room, holding my hand tightly. The silence is excruciating as I wait for her to say something. If Father was here, he wouldn't have wasted any time with relocation, he would have immediately started shouting at me. However, Mother just sits there watching me.

"Are you alright?" she finally asks, her voice quiet and gentle. "You said that Potter was helping you recover. Are you better now?"

"I still experience a few withdrawal symptoms here and there," I admit shyly. "But I'm okay."

"Why didn't you come to me with this? Why didn't you let me help you?"

"I couldn't. I couldn't admit to you what I did, who I'd become. I was ashamed."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, how could you _ever_ be too ashamed to come to me for help!? I am your Mother! You're supposed to come to me whenever you need me!"

"What about Dad? You know how he will react to this. He'd lecture me for hours about how the Malfoy family has an image to maintain and expectations to meet. He would never forgive me for this."

"Well, we don't have to tell your father about this then, do we?"

Finally, I look up to meet her eyes, shocked by her willingness to keep something like this a secret from him. She never would have thought of lying to him before, especially about something as important as this. Neither of us have ever gone against my father for anything. However, that thought does spark up another question in my mind. There is no way that my father would approve of her having anything to do with the Muggle world, yet here she was opening a shop in the middle of Muggle London? Father would never approve of this. He can't possibly know about it. Which means that my drug problem will not be the first secret that she has kept from him.

"Mum, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, darling, what is it?"

"What is the deal with this shop?"

She sighs heavily and looks around the room. "I needed to get away, too. It's not easy for me to be in that manor all day without you, remembering everything that happened there. I needed somewhere I could escape to without your father knowing about it. I always loved creating art out of glass and so I decided to open up this shop where I could sell some of it. Your father has no idea that I even leave the house while he's gone. How exactly did you find me?"

"I was just going for a walk and I saw you through the window."

"May I ask a question now?" Her voice is gentle, as if she is unsure whether or not she should even consider asking whatever question has planted itself at the front of her mind. I simply nod slowly, bracing myself for what she would ask. "You said that Potter has been staying with you. How – um – how is that going?"

"He's been taking care of me, staying by my side the whole time. Although, apparently, he was only doing it to make him feel better about himself or whatever. He doesn't actually care about me."

"Now, hold on, I'm sure that's not true. Maybe there's more to it than what you're thinking. You do have a tendency to jump to conclusions and overreact to things. From what I witnessed during the war, I'd say that he does care about you. Besides, if all he cared about was doing good deeds for his self-esteem, he could have just given you a Cleansing Potion and left you with Blaise to take care of you."

I thought about her words for several minutes. After a few more exchanges, she regretfully insists that she should be getting back to work. We have promised each other that if I keep quiet about her shop, she'll keep quiet about what I've been up to. Relief is the only word I can think of to describe what I'm feeling at her reaction to everything I told her. She only showed concern about the drug issue and she barely reacted at all to the idea of Potter being involved in my life. Safe to say I underestimated her greatly.

Returning to Blaise's apartment, I realize that the apartment is empty. My heart plummets. Potter must have finally left. I wander back into the bedroom. His trunk is still sitting next to my own at the end of the bed. On cue, the front door opens and slams shut. Mother's words swim around in my mind as I walk out into the living room to see Potter. His eyes are wide and his breathing is heavy. His hair is a wild mess. He gawks at me.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been!?" he yells loudly, his voice practically shaking the walls. "Do you have any idea how many places I've been searching for you!?"

"You were out looking for me?"

"Of course I've been looking for you! Are you insane!? You just stormed out without telling me where you were going! You didn't even give me a chance to explain!"

"Well, I'm back now. So go ahead. Explain."

"Draco, I agreed to this because I thought that it was going to help turn things around for me. And I know that was a selfish reason, but that doesn't mean that I don't care about you. I don't want anything to happen to you. Please believe that."

"So does that mean you're going to stay?"


	12. Chapter 11 - Smitten

Harry Potter – Monday, July 31st, 2000

After only five days since the unfortunate fight between Draco and me, things between us have mellowed dramatically. Despite how angry he was when he first heard why I had agreed to help him recover, the fact that I decided to stay with him has changed his demeanor toward me. I wouldn't go so far as to say "friendly" by most standards, but for Draco it's a huge improvement.

Still half asleep, my brain struggles to register the closeness – the heat radiating from the body lying next to me. Warm breath ghosts across my skin. When I open my eyes, our faces are so close together that, even without my glasses, I can see the details of his face clearly. His sleepy, grey eyes are open and watching my face. Our noses are touching now. Is he moving closer to me or am I moving closer to him? Wait, what's going on? No, this can't happen. I can't do this. This is completely and undeniably wro –.

Lips press against mine so softly I had to question if it was real or simply my imagination. _Don't move. Don't you dare move a muscle. _I try to convince myself it's my imagination until the lips against mine become more forceful, moving effortlessly against mine. The part of me that was concerned about how wrong this would be only moments before is unable to object. And another part of me, a part of me I didn't know I had, knows that there is nothing wrong about this at all. Nothing wrong about the way he captures my bottom lip between his. Nothing wrong about his hand on my neck. Nothing wrong about the indescribable feeling in my gut telling me this is right.

At that moment I realize what that indescribable feeling is: life-changing. All this time I thought that the thing I needed to turn my life around was to simply help Draco recover from his addiction. It never occurred to me that the thing I needed was Draco. I suppose it's true that the thing that will change your life is always something you never would have expected. Perhaps if I had expected it, it wouldn't be life-changing. Perhaps if I had expected it, it wouldn't give me that light that I've been looking for. Perhaps if I had expected it, it would have had no meaning at all.

His lips pull away from mine slowly. "Happy Birthday, Potter."

"How did you know it's my birthday?" I ask, realizing that I almost forgot about it myself. He gestures behind me. Rolling over, I reach my hand out for my glasses, but instead, my hand falls upon a box. After feeling around a bit longer for my glasses and putting them on, I observe the brightly colored gift box sitting on the nightstand. The small card tucked into the ribbon has the familiar handwriting across it: _Harry, I hope you have an amazing birthday! I love you and I'm always here for you! Love, Hermione_

"Granger?" Draco guesses.

"Yeah, she must have brought it by and Blaise brought it in." I sit up, leaning back against the headboard, and place the box on my lap, silently trying to predict what will be inside.

"Will you just open the damn box already!?" he growls impatiently, clearly equally as curious as I am.

"Calm down, it's _my_ birthday," I say, deliberately teasing him. "If I want to spend three hours opening this gift, I can do just that."

Draco makes a low growl in his throat in frustration. Long, pale fingers reach across me and tug on the ribbon, unraveling it from around the box. Laughter bubbles up in my throat and escapes, amused at his impatience. Tilting the lid up to peek inside, a golden shimmer escapes from the depths of the box. Before either of us have the opportunity to lift the box lid completely off, it is knocked off by the golden object inside as it breaks free. A golden snitch, slightly larger than a typical snitch, spreads its wings open and flutters out of the box, hovering in the air in front of my face.

"Why is it bigger than it's supposed to be?" I ask, more to myself than Draco, but he answers anyway.

Plucking the snitch out of the air, he begins to casually stroke at the wings. As he does so, the snitch begins to open, similarly to how the snitch Dumbledore had left me opened, but instead of an object being hidden inside, figures of light and mist begin to spiral out of it. The figures almost look like a Patronus until I focus on what they are shifting into – me sitting on the Hogwarts express for the first time and meeting Ron and Hermione. Each time Draco strokes at the wings, the figures shift into another memory – my memories – each one a memory of the person I used to be, the person I miss.

"It's meant to store your happiest memories and show them to you when you open it," Draco explains vaguely as I stare, slightly in awe, at the misty figures of myself and my friends.

"Like a Pensieve?" I murmur absently.

"Sort of, I suppose. Except this is much easier to use."

"How does it have all of these memories in it?"

"Granger must have put them in. Merlin only knows how she managed that. Each one of these is strictly meant for only one person – so no matter who uses it, it will only show _your_ memories."

"Wow, Hermione never fails," I mutter softly to myself as I watch the smiles on the figures faces. The laughter emanating from them seems to be almost visible as more light spirals around them. She always knows exactly what I need. "Draco, are you going to be alright on your own for a little while?"

"Oh, uh, I'm sure I'll survive." His tone is sharp and sarcastic as if he is attempting to insult me somehow. The expression on his face, however, is significantly less harsh, looking like a child whose favorite toy has been taken away from them.

"It's just that I really want to go see Hermione today. I haven't seen her almost at all since I've been here and I figured you wouldn't want to go with me."

The child in his eyes is staring at its lost toy with a deep sadness and yearning. Draco clenches his jaw tight to hide his emotion and tries to keep his voice sounding bored and detached, "It doesn't matter to me, really. You're the one who insists on staying here. I'm sure she's been begging you to come back in all those letters she's been sending you."

"Actually, she's just been telling me what everyone has been doing and asks how you're coming along. She hasn't asked me to come back."

His perfectly shaped brows rise up underneath his hair. "She's been asking about me?"

"Of course, she wants to know if you're alright. She does care about your well-being, Draco. You don't give her enough credit." The snarky comment I expect to follow in rebuttal does not come. Instead, he sits there in silence, chewing absently at his bottom lip.

Throughout several moments of silence, I observe him. He seems to be staring down at his hands in deep thought. His grey eyes seem darker somehow with intensity, making me wonder what he is thinking. He taps one of his long fingers against the bed. All of his small, unconscious actions are grasping my attention fully and forcing me to take notice of things that I typically overlook. How long his fingers are. How pale his skin is. How the smooth, subtle lines of muscles shape his chest and abdomen. How sharp and defined his jawline is. And how full his pink lips are, captured between his snowy white teeth. The thought of those lips having been on mine makes my palms sweat.

I'm surprised that I never noticed how beautiful he is before. Perhaps the nasty scowl that was always on his face masked it. There is a small cluster of light freckles on the left side of his face, high on his prominent cheekbone, in the shape of one of the constellations I learned about in school. Draco having freckles in the shape of constellations is somewhat amusing in its irony. When his eyes finally lift back up to mine, I realize how long we've been sitting silently.

"So when do you plan on abandoning me for your friend?" he asks edgily. "Isn't she at work right now?"

"Yeah, but I can always owl her and have her meet me during her lunch break. Look, if you want to come with me, you can, you don't have to make such a big deal about this."

"I'm not making a big deal. I couldn't care less what you do. I was simply making conversation. I don't see how that's making a big deal."

"You are seriously babbling. Come on, then, we can go out for a bit and check out the shops before meeting Hermione. Would you want to do that?"

He simply shrugs. Shoving down my frustration, I force myself to remember that he will never admit that he wants to go with me. This puzzles me further. He refuses to admit that he wants me to stay with him. He refuses to admit that he wants to come with me to meet Hermione. He refuses to drop the sarcastic edge toward me. And yet he kisses me – a wonderful kiss at that. Nothing about this man before my eyes makes any sense to me at all.

Draco and I are sitting at one of the tables in my favorite restaurant as Hermione walks in and scans the room for us. A large smile spreads across her face as she spots me and makes her way across the room toward us. Lydia brings three butterbeers to the table as Hermione takes the seat across from me. It's such a relief to see her again. In some ways she looks so different, and in others she looks exactly the same. Her hair is contained in a side braid, draped casually over her shoulder. The sundress that she is wearing is white with orange flowers all over it. A bit different from her usual style, but since leaving Hogwarts she has attempted to step outside of her comfort zone in many areas of her life.

"Harry! I was so glad to get your owl!" Hermione exclaims cheerfully, taking a quick sip of her butterbeer before reaching across the table to take my hand in hers. "It's _so_ good to see you! I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," I tell her. "I'm sorry I haven't made time to see you lately."

"It's alright, Harry. I understand." And with that she glances over at Draco. "Hello, Draco. I was wondering if I would see you today. How are you feeling?"

Draco hesitates for a moment, off-put by her friendly tone. "I-I feel fine."

"That's good. Blaise has been letting me know how things are going when he occasionally stops by the shop. But I haven't seen him in a while."

"Blaise comes by to see you?" I say curiously. "He never mentioned that."

"Perhaps he didn't think it was important to mention," she suggests. "Either way, he would come in once or twice a week with small bits of information. Quite thoughtful of him, really."

"You said he comes by the shop," Draco mutters quietly. "What shop?"

Hermione glances at him, almost surprised that he is engaging in conversation with her. There is something amusing about watching their interactions with each other, both being friendly to each other, but both also surprised each time when they get the same treatment in response. "Um, yes, I have a small coffee shop in Muggle London. It's nothing special or anything – just a comfortable place for people to come and relax."

"She's being modest," I say proudly. "She has created this amazing place; it's styled to look like the Gryffindor Common Room. Of course, none of the Muggles know that. They think that it's just a warm, red and gold color scheme. There are all of these large sofas and chairs in a sitting area, with bookshelves full of old, classic novels on one side and a collection of small round tables on the other. It has a great atmosphere. It's amazing."

"What on earth possessed you to open a café?" Draco asks skeptically. "That doesn't sound like one of your typical career choices. I would have pictured you in some high profile Ministry job or a Healer perhaps, even a librarian or bookstore owner. Why a café?"

"Everyone expected me to go into Ministry work," she explains. "I didn't want to base my entire life around some uptight work simply because it was expected of me. A little something I learned from Harry, by the way. Besides, I still do some work for the Ministry when I can. I'm always putting together propositions for them to work with."

"Muggle café owner by day, Magical crime fighter on the weekends," I say jokingly.

"I wouldn't exactly go that far." Hermione rolls her eyes at me, but smiles. She returns to speaking to Draco about the shop, "Parvati Patil owns it with me. She has a real passion for baking, you know? She is always baking all sorts of lovely things for our customers. It seemed like something I would enjoy. Working in such a warm, comfortable place that always smells delicious, working with a friend to help make people smile. I really quite enjoy it."

"If you run a café, why didn't we meet there?" Draco asks, running his finger around and around the rim of his glass. The action mesmerizes me hopelessly, making my heart races a bit.

Her eyes widen slightly and dart back and forth uncomfortably. "Oh, well, I figured you would rather meet here, is all."

"Hermione?" I watch her curiously, confused by her change of disposition. "What's going on?"

"Well, I, um, like I said, my shop is in Muggle London and I –"

"You thought Draco wouldn't want to go into the Muggle world?" I guess the ending of her sentence, surprised by the defensive tone my voice had taken.

"No, that's not it at all, it's just that, I –"

"Didn't want to run into my mother?" Draco finishes for her casually.

Hermione's eyes widen further. "You know?"

"Yes."

"Know what?" I inquire, suddenly completely left out of some sort of secret.

"I went for a walk earlier this month and ran into her at her shop," Draco explains, ignoring me completely.

"What shop?" I interject again. "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?"

"My mother owns a shop in Muggle London. She creates all sorts of glassware. And before you ask, my father doesn't know about it."

"You talked to your mother and you didn't tell me?" For some reason I am feeling a bit offended that he wouldn't have told me about it, even though I can't think of any reason why he would. It's not as though we are friends who feel the need to tell each other about our life events.

"Why would I have told you?" Draco voices my own thoughts, his brow arched pointedly.

"I-I just thought you would have – I mean I thought we were – and after what happened – and your parents are –"

"Wait, after _what_ happened?" he interrupts, shifting in his seat to face me completely.

"N-nothing, I mean, this morning was just –"

"Whoa, hold on a minute. _That's_ what this is about? It was just a kiss. It didn't _mean_ anything."

"You two _kissed_!?" Hermione squeals in shock, but is completely ignored.

"How could it not mean _anything_?" I snap.

"It was just a kiss. People kiss. It doesn't have to turn into a bloody romance novel."

"Wait, you two _kissed!?_" Hermione says again.

"Is that your way of saying you're not swinging my way?" I ask Draco, once again ignoring Hermione, who is staring with her mouth slightly open, her wide eyes darting back and forth between myself and Draco.

"I'm not swinging at all. I'm stationary," Draco replies casually.

"What does that even mean?"

"Alright, so maybe I'm bisexual, I've never really given it much thought. But that doesn't mean that every person that I kiss is going to be the person I spend the rest of my life with. Honestly, Potter, you're making too big of a deal out of this."

There is no way I can simply let this go. I was there. I know what I felt. It wasn't just a kiss.


	13. Chapter 12 - Clueless

Draco Malfoy – Tuesday, August 1st, 2000/Wednesday, August 2nd, 2000

Since I had agreed to go along with Potter to meet Granger for his birthday yesterday, he is allowing me to go out and do something that _I_ want today. Blaise and I manage to persuade the owner of Ego to permit Potter to come inside, despite not being a Slytherin. It only took some mild flirting to convince him to let me have my way. Before we knew it, we were sitting back at our usual spot on the sofa in the back of the club. My heart is racing at the image of the last time I had been here, leaving with Astoria. Luckily, she is nowhere to be seen.

Potter is tense and avoids looking around at any of the other people. The music is pounding throughout the room in an infectious rhythm and the alcohol helps to ease my nerves. Occasionally I feel Potter's hand brush against my own. Despite the subtly of the act, it's quite clear to be intentional. His index finger will lift up and stroke over the back of my hand softly before resting back on the cushion as if nothing had happened. Soon enough, it isn't anything to worry about as I am pulled away from him.

A young woman, tall with short black hair and blazing blue eyes, approaches me and pulls me closer to Blaise on the sofa. She sets herself upon my lap, stretching herself across both of us. Her long, red fingernails dig into my hair as she pulls me in for a kiss. The fact that I have never seen this woman before this moment does not seem to bother me. I watch as she reaches her other hand out toward Blaise's face. At first, I am unsure what to do, knowing that he is not into women. However, she does not pull him in to kiss her, instead she pushes his face toward mine. Mentally shrugging and thinking, _Why not?_ I lean toward Blaise and open my mouth for him.

Blaise gives everything he has into the kiss as our lips move together. I know that he has such strong feelings for me and I know what this kiss must be for him – but I can't feel anything. Nothing. There's no spark at all. No heat. Not like the kisses I had with Pansy. Not like the kisses I shared with Astoria. Not even the kiss I had with –

_Potter._ Remembering his presence, I pull away from Blaise and glance back at him. His face is tight with anger, but he doesn't say anything. Unsure how to rectify the situation, I motion for him to come closer. The woman glances over her shoulder to see who I am gesturing to and a mischievous smile breaks onto her face. Her hand runs up my leg seductively, and for a moment my eyes flutter at the touch, but the look on Potter's face prevents me from losing myself in her.

"Excuse me," I whisper apologetically to her. Looking disappointed, she slides off my lap and watches me crawl back over to Potter. The music is so loud that I have to practically touch my lips to his ear in order for him to hear me. "Hey, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"_Nothing,_" he hisses bitterly. "Look, I'm sure Blaise can take care of you and whoever the hell _she_ is. So I'll just go and meet you at the apartment."

"Wh –? Potter –"

Potter stands from the sofa, glancing in disgust at the woman and storms out of the club and out of sight. What the _fuck_ was that!? What's his problem? I mean, I know that I don't know her or anything, but why should he judge me for that? There's nothing wrong with having a little harmless fun. He has no reason to be so upset. Shrugging off the thought before I become irritated, I turn back to Blaise and the stranger. This is my first night of freedom. I can do whatever the fuck I want. I sit back down next to Blaise, pulling the woman back down onto my lap, and engage in a passionate three-way kiss.

Blaise and I arrive back at the apartment around three o'clock in the morning. The woman, who apparently was named Gina, parted ways with us outside the club when we left. Blaise grabs my face between his hands and gives me a final, forceful kiss before stumbling over to the sofa in the living room to sleep. Tip-toeing back to the bedroom, I expect to find Potter already asleep and try to be extra quiet as not to wake him. However, he is wide awake, lying on his back on the bed, arms folded across his chest, staring up at the ceiling.

"Finally home I see," he mumbles in a bored voice, not bothering to look away from the spot he has chosen on the ceiling. "Must have been having quite some fun."

"Alright, Potter, that's it," I snap impatiently. "What the fuck is your problem? Why do you care what I do or who I do it with? I wasn't doing anything wrong! You have no right to judge me! This attitude of yours is ridiculous!"

"You're an idiot," is all he can mutter as he turns onto his side, his back to me.

"Are you going to tell me why you're acting like such a shit?"

"If you seriously have to ask that question, you can just go straight to hell."

"Are you _serious!?_" My jaw drops, outraged. When he doesn't say anything else, I turn on my heel, furious, and go back into the living room. I make my way over to the sofa, which Blaise resorted to magically transforming to make it larger, and kneel beside it. "Pst, Blaise, you awake?"

"Dray?" Blaise rolls over to face me. "Yeah, everything okay?"

"I'm not sure actually. Can I sleep out here with you?" Of course, Blaise doesn't refuse such a tempting offer. He pulls the blanket back and allows me to crawl underneath it with him. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his body. He nuzzles his face in my hair affectionately. Neither of us had bothered to undress, so I can still smell Gina's perfume on our clothes. The smell only seems to infuriate me further, reminding me of Potter's behavior. He's such a git. For once, I haven't done anything wrong and he's being such a twat.

The next morning, I was actually surprised to find myself cuddled up against Blaise in the living room instead of with Potter in the bedroom. At first, I am disappointed, until I remember the reason why I'm not in the bedroom. The sound of dishes clanking together in the kitchen drag my body away from the warmth of the body that had been holding me protectively all night. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I make my way to the kitchen.

Potter is putting his empty breakfast plate into the sink as I walk up behind him. His body tenses when he feels me there. "I trust you slept well with Blaise last night."

"Well, I figured sleeping with you wasn't an option," I retort. "You weren't exactly the poster child for civility."

"And I don't intend to be today either. Excuse me, I'm going out." He attempts to push past me, but I block his way.

"Wait, you're _leaving?_"

"I thought I made that obvious when I said that I was going out, but perhaps not."

"You're just leaving me here alone. You know what, fine. Go out. In fact, go _home!_ You obviously don't want to be here anymore and I've clearly done something to piss you off. So just go home! You've done your good deed and nursed the bird with the broken wing back to health, so your job here is done."

"Go home? Are you serious? You just don't get it, do you?" The look in his eye now is much more pain than anger. He shakes his head with a sigh and manages to push past me this time. Apparently I don't get it. The only problem is, I don't know what it is I don't get. But whatever it is, it's certainly got Potter's wand in a knot.

Unable to simply sit around in this apartment by myself once Blaise leaves for work, and still confused and frustrated by recent setbacks in my whatever-it-is with Potter, there is only one place that I can stand to go. My mother's shop in Muggle London is fairly busy today, so I spend most of my time there sitting on a stool behind the counter while she deals with her customers. I don't mind, though. There is something relaxing about simply sitting there with Mother, watching the different people come and go as the hours pass by. I even find myself making random assumptions about the personality and personal life of each customer based solely on the product that they chose to purchase.

Eventually, my mother takes a lunch break and takes me to a park where we sit to eat the sandwiches that we pick up on the way there. We sit on a bench that is partially secluded from the rest of the park. The conversation starts of mostly exchanging updates – met with Granger, Father is becoming suspicious, interesting events at the club, shops sales are picking up.

"So, what else is happening?" she asks after a moment of silence. "Potter's still around?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure how much longer he'll be here."

"Oh, really? Why is that?"

"He's recently developed a nasty attitude. Honestly, I have no idea what his problem is. He was there with us at the club last night and everything seemed fine. When I started to, you know, with Blaise and Gina, he suddenly got so upset and stormed out. When I saw him this morning, he was still angry and he just left. It's so pathetic. I mean, he won't even tell me what he's so worked up about. At first I thought it was some judgmental shit about me not knowing Gina, but now I'm not so sure."

"I feel as though you are leaving out a key piece of information here."

"No, not really. He was perfectly happy when we got there and then he just lost it."

"Perhaps you should think back a little bit earlier than last night, Draco. I mean, clearly there is something bothering him. He can't be this upset over this girl that you met. What happened the day before?"

"Nothing exciting. I already told you about it being his birthday and that we met Granger for lunch. It wasn't that eventful of a day."

"What did you do after lunch?"

"We went to this café that Granger owns and hung out with his other friends for basically the entire damn day. I spent most of that time reading the books that they had there while he talked with them. When we got home we separated while I played Wizard's Chess with Blaise."

She sighs heavily, the gears in her mind turning as she struggles to put the pieces together. "Did anything happen before lunch?"

"Nothing significant. We were wandering around the shops in Diagon Alley. Before that we were opening this present that he got from Granger and we – oh."

"Oh? Oh, what?"

"Well, I mean, it's not a big deal or anything, it's just that we – we sort of _kissed._" I say the word _kissed_ as if it's a forbidden word. Mother blinks a few times, staring at me. "It wasn't anything."

"Maybe it was to him," she suggests. "You said that he was only upset when he saw you with Blaise and Gina. Perhaps he was jealous."

"Mum, Potter is only here to help me get over this addiction thing. There isn't some sort of love story here. We're not even _friends_. The kiss just happened and it didn't mean anything. I'm sure that he's forgotten all about it by now anyway. He wouldn't get all jealous over me and freak out like that."

"How do you know that? How well do you _really_ know him, Draco?"

She does have a point in suggesting that I do not know Potter as well as I may have thought. We may have known each other for years, but does that really mean we _know_ each other? What even _do_ I know about him? Is he the type to get jealous? Is he the type to take a simple kiss so seriously? What does he like in a significant other? What does he even like in general? What is his favorite food? His favorite Quidditch team? His favorite color? Who is Harry Potter?

Talking to my mother was partly a relief, but also a bit of an addition to the burden I was faced with this morning. All I can think about now is Potter – who he is, what he's like, what he's thinking, what the kiss meant to him. Several minutes have been spent trying to come up with a list of things that I actually know about him that wasn't obvious or already public knowledge from being published in the _Daily Prophet _and writing them down. I hold the paper up and examine it – blank.

Stepping through the doorway to the bedroom, Potter's body is buried underneath the blanket, pulled almost completely up over his head. Only a few locks of his hair are visible over the top of the blanket. His back is to me again and I cannot tell if he is actually asleep or not. It's far too early for him to actually be sleeping, but perhaps he did not sleep well last night. Or perhaps he's just upset enough that he wants to stay in bed. I climb into the bed and push myself up against his back. This causes him to roll over to face me, his eyes are wide and his glasses are still on, showing that he had been awake after all. This doesn't make me feel better, because that means he is more upset than I thought.

"Hey, Potter," I say, my voice barely audible. He blinks at me in response. "I think we need to talk. I don't want you to be so upset. We were finally making progress with this whole rivalry thing. Are we really going to throw that all away over something so small?"

"That's the problem, Malfoy," Potter says. My heart aches at the sound of my last name, something he hasn't called me in quite some time. "You think that it's something _small_. It's _not_ small. Not to me. And you don't understand that."

"Is this about the kiss?" My answer comes in the form of silence. "Potter, I didn't mean for this kiss to unravel our lives. It was just something that happened. I mean, I woke up and saw you there and I don't know what came over me. It was just an impulse and it happened before I could stop myself."

"Tell me the truth. Was the kiss really just some random impulse that meant absolutely nothing to you at all?"

I open my mouth to say yes, but the word won't come out. The hope in his eyes kills me. How could I have been so clueless to what he was so obviously telling me? Of course the kiss wasn't simply a mindless impulse. Of course it meant everything. Of course I had feelings for him, just like I always have. But the idea of telling him that makes me sick with anxiety. I can't possibly make such a confession – be so expose, so vulnerable.

"Draco, it's a simple question."

"Not as simple as you think."

Potter inhales sharply at this. For a moment, I think that he's going to argue with me, however, I could not have been more wrong. In the time it takes me to blink, his lips are pressed against mine firmly and his hand is on the side of my face. Unable to deny him, and myself, I open my mouth to him. The kiss escalates until he is lying completely on top of me, kissing me passionately and tangling his hands in my hair. This kiss is different from any other I've had. It is full of something more than basic lust. There is something else there, something I cannot identify. My hands hold tightly around his back, trapping him against me. We are both tangled awkwardly in the blanket.

"No," I mumble against his lips, pushing him away. "No, no. This isn't right. We can't do this."

"Draco –"

"We cannot do this again! There is nothing between us! Nothing! And there never will be! There _can't _be!" He looks so hurt and it destroys me inside. But I can't. I can't do this. I can't be with him. My father would kill me. My father will kill me. I can't do this. I have to remember what my father taught me, what he wants for me, it's what is best for me, that's what he always said.

"D-Draco, I –"

"I have to go."

I burst out of the room and out of the apartment. Distance. That's what I need. As much distance between us as possible.


	14. Chapter 13 - Space

Harry Potter – Wednesday, August 2nd, 2000

Pain. That's the only word that can describe the feeling gnawing at my insides as I watch Draco flee from the apartment. One moment I'm completely lost in the most passionate kiss of my life, and the next I'm sitting alone in bed, Draco's words spinning around and around in my mind. _We can't do this. There is nothing between us! Nothing! And there never will be!_ How can he say that? The way that he kissed me back and held me against him – I know that he is feeling this. Why does he push me away?

The pain is aching inside my chest – so much pain I could possibly vomit from the intensity of it. How could I let him affect me so? This is ridiculous! It's just Draco Malfoy. It's just a kiss. It shouldn't destroy me this way. But there is no way to turn off the way that I feel. His kiss twisted me up inside in a way that is impossible to recover from. There is no way that I can bear to see his face now. Such a blatant rejection is a sign that it's time to go home.

Angry with myself for allowing the pain to get to me, I climb off of the bed and begin packing all of my belongings back into my trunk. My eyes are burning, but I force myself to hold it together. Once my trunk is fully packed, I glance around the room. A large, black sweatshirt that Draco wears all the time is draped over a chair by the bed. Without hesitating, I grab the sweatshirt and pull it on over my head. The soft, warm material smells like him. There is nothing left for me here. I leave a note for Blaise, letting him know that I've gone home, and drag my trunk back out into the world.

Apparating back home, I push the door open to the apartment and see that Hermione is already home. She looks surprised to see me and glances down at my trunk. For a moment, she looks pleased, until she sees the expression on my face. Hermione makes her way over to me, closing the door and shoving my trunk out of the way, and pulls me into a hug.

"Harry, what happened?" she asks softly, pulling back to look at my face.

"I don't even know how to explain it," I mumble, exhausted with depression.

"Does this have anything to do with the kiss that you two mentioned the other day?"

"It has everything to do with the kiss." Moving over to sit on the sofa, I wait for Hermione to join me before continuing. I pull Draco's sweatshirt over my legs, tucking them against my chest. "I tried so hard not to let it get to me. I tried to convince myself that it was just a kiss and nothing more. But I can't shake what I felt when he kissed me. I thought that maybe he was what I was waiting for. I thought I was falling for him."

She doesn't react to this revelation with the exception of a deep inhale. "Then what happened?"

"He said that there was nothing between us. He said we were nothing and never would be. Then he just stormed out of the apartment and left me there."

"Harry, I'm sorry."

"It hurts, Hermione. It really hurts." My eyes burn again and this time I don't bother to hold them back. Tears slip down my face as I continue, "I know that it shouldn't. I know that I shouldn't care. But I haven't felt a pain like this in a long time."

Hermione pulls on Draco's sweatshirt until I fall forward into her. She places a pillow onto her lap and gestures for me to lay my head upon it. Her fingers stroke at my hair as I stare blankly at the wall. My whole body aches. "Harry, you don't have to feel guilty about how you feel. You can't control how you feel about him. There's nothing wrong with that. And you know that Draco is not the type of person who can accept his emotions. You know that Lucius would never approve and Draco has always been insistent on abiding by his father's wishes."

"You think that this is about Lucius?" I choke out, my voice sounding unfamiliar.

"I think that from what I saw when we were at lunch together, Draco cares about you very much. He's always been terrified of his father and gone to great lengths to gain his approval. All I'm saying is, there is a chance that he really does care for you."

"He's an adult now, for Merlin's sake. Is he going to make every decision in life out of fear for his father forever!?"

"I don't know, Harry. Maybe you should talk to him. Explain to him how you feel and try to figure out where his head is at –"

"No, no way. I'm not going back there. Not after that. You should have heard him, Hermione. I can't bear to look at him now." Pathetic. How can I be so pathetic? I pull the sleeves of Draco's sweatshirt down over my hands before burying my face in them, breathing deeply to inhale his scent. Hermione continues to stroke my hair, no doubt searching for the proper thing to say to make me feel better. In keeping with my current state of pathetic behavior, all I can think is that the only words that would make me feel better now would be to hear Draco tell me that he loved me and that his father was not going to keep us apart. Even thinking the words in the privacy of my mind makes me feel humiliated at how pitiful I sound. Besides, there's no hope of that ever happening.

"You're going to get through this, Harry," Hermione assures me softly. "I know that this must be painful, being the first person you've had feelings for since Ginny, but things will work out the way they are supposed to. You're the strongest person I know, Harry. You can survive this, just like you survived everything else. And I'll be here every step of the way."

All I can do is nod in response. She does have a point in saying that Draco is the first person I've had feelings for since Ginny, which could explain why it has hit me quite so hard. Part of me believes that things will work out the way they are supposed to, like she said, but the scary part of that is not knowing exactly how things are supposed to work out – what should I be expecting to happen to me, to him, to us? Hermione is always here to comfort me, but she doesn't really understand. I need to talk to someone who could possibly help me figure out what to do and –

"I think I'm going to go visit Arlene," I finally say, lifting myself up off of Hermione's lap. "I've only gone to see her once since I went to stay with – you know – anyway, maybe it would do me some good to talk with her for a little while."

"O-oh," she stammers uncomfortably. "Well, sure, if you think it will make you feel better. I'll be here when you get back."

"Or you could come with me."

"What?"

"Well, you've never met her and you hear me talk about her. And I've told her all about you. She would really love to meet you. So, if you wanted to, you should come with me."

Arlene Devon welcomes us both with open arms, ushering us into her living room. The fire is warm and friendly in the fireplace, giving a charming glow to the room. Hermione and I cram into the large armchair together, me still engulfed in Draco's sweatshirt and Hermione holding on to me as if it is keeping me from falling to pieces. Arlene sits in the rocking chair across from us and smiles cheerfully at the two of us.

"It's so good to see you again, Harry," Arlene says in her usual soft tone. "And, Hermione, dear, I'm so pleased to finally meet you. Harry has told me so much about you."

"He's told me a lot about you, too," Hermione replies. "It's an honor to finally meet the woman who has been so kind to Harry."

"Oh, it's so easy, he's so sweet. Although, I must say, Harry, you are looking a little under the weather. Are you alright, dear?"

"No, not really," I tell her honestly, my voice cracking slightly.

"What happened, sweetie? Last time I saw you, you were so happy with the way things were going. You told me that this young man was making such a difference. I'm sorry, what was his name again?"

The thought of saying his name out loud made my whole body ache. "Draco. And he isn't exactly in the picture anymore."

Hermione's arms tighten around me and she rests her chin on my shoulder. "Draco told Harry that nothing could ever happen between them and stormed out."

Arlene gasps quietly. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. That's such a shame."

"Personally, I think that Draco does care about Harry."

"Don't bother, Hermione," I mumble dully.

"You're being too negative, Harry. You know better than anyone the lengths Draco will go to for his father's approval. And you also know how upset Lucius would be at the idea of the two of you together. Draco is just afraid of the consequences, that's all."

"Lucius?" Arlene repeats. "Are you talking about Lucius Malfoy? The man that was in the papers as a convicted Death Eater?"

"That's the one," I confirm.

"His son is the boy you've fallen for, then. Well, I think that Hermione has a point in suggesting that the poor boy is simply attempting to avoid an argument with his father. Having a Death Eater for a father sounds like quite an intimidating position to be in. I wouldn't be too hard on yourself, dear."

My tired eyes meet hers, reluctantly looking away from the fire. "I wish it were that easy. I mean, let's say, for argument's sake, that he does want to be with me and his father is the reason why he is pushing me away. Should that not be just as painful, knowing that he doesn't care _enough_ to take whatever risks necessary to be with me? Should I simply accept the fact that his father's opinion of me and our relationship is more important to him? I can't do that."

Hermione sighs next to me, but doesn't say anything. There isn't anything that she could say. She knows there is no argument that could satisfy me. My eyes return to the fire, watching as the flames whip around energetically. Flames are always warm and full of life – I wish I could be the same.

"Harry, dear," Arlene begins in a calm voice, "life is full of all sort of obstacles. You, of all people, know that very well. And up until now, you have managed to overcome all of those obstacles. Consider Lucius Malfoy another obstacle. Are you willing to overcome it to be with Draco?"

"It isn't exactly up to me," I tell her simply. "Draco is the one who needs to overcome his fear of his father."

"Yes, of course, but he never will if you don't give him a reason to do so. If he believes that you've given up on him, then he will simply continue on as he has been all his life, following after his father out of fear and never living his life the way that he wants to. If you wish, you can spend some time apart to figure out what you really want to do, but if you decide that he is truly what you want, you should fight for him."

"What if he doesn't want me to fight for him?"

"Harry, you must go after what you want. Deciding to give up what will make you happy because you think it is what somebody else wants is not going to make anything better for anyone. You cannot go about neglecting your own happiness and convincing yourself that it is out of compassion for others. Draco will need to learn to do the same."

Spending time away from him for a while might be the best thing for both of us. Part of me is wishing that after leaving him alone, Draco will decide that he misses me and come looking for me. But I doubt very highly that things will work out that way. If I want Draco back, I'm going to have to go to him, that's obvious. However, I'm not ready to do that right now. I need time to myself to think things through. If I'm going to humiliate myself by crawling back to _Draco Malfoy_ then surely I should be one hundred percent sure that being with him is what I really want.

After sharing a cup of tea, Hermione and I travel back home. Desperate to avoid Hermione asking me, once again, if I'm alright, I decided to take a long shower as an excuse for some privacy. I found myself lying down on the floor of the shower, my arm draped over my closed eyes, allowing the hot water to pour down on top of me. The heat was physically soothing; however, emotionally it did no good for me whatsoever. I have no idea how long I was lying there, but I did not make any effort to move until the hot water ran out.

Hermione is in the kitchen, doing Merlin knows what, but making plenty of noise. She must have heard the water turn off, because the noise ceases and she calls out to me. Ignoring her call, I wrap the towel around myself and go back into my bedroom. It seems as though Hermione unpacked my trunk for me while I was in the shower. However, Draco's sweatshirt is still on the end of my bed where I left it. She calls to me again as I drop the towel onto the floor and pull Draco's sweatshirt on over my head. I pull on a pair of underwear just in time for Hermione to come back into my room.

"Harry, are you hungry?" she asks softly, glancing at the sweatshirt with sad understanding.

"No, not really," I mumble, crawling into my bed and pulling the sweatshirt over my naked legs. Wrapped up into a ball, I allow myself to fall over onto my side.

"Harry, you haven't eaten anything all day. You really should eat something."

"I'm not really in the mood to eat anything right now, Hermione. I just want to go to sleep."

Hermione opens her mouth to debate the subject, but sighs in defeat. She kisses me on the forehead before leaving me alone with my thoughts. I'm sure that she is unhappy and I know that she is concerned – that's what makes her such a good friend – but no amount of sympathy in the world will suddenly make someone's problems disappear.

This is so ridiculous. The way that I'm acting is so not me at all. This is not who I am. I don't fall apart like this over some guy. What the hell am I doing? What I _should_ be doing is getting out of bed, throwing this sweatshirt away, and moving on with my life. Instead, I've turned into the pathetic wreck of a girl from those Muggle vampire books who falls apart when her vampire boyfriend leaves her and lies in the forest for however long. What a shame that I don't have a werewolf friend to help me become even more of a basket case and jump of a cliff with me.

"Draco Malfoy, what have you done to me?" I ask, somewhat irrationally since there is no way that he can actually hear me. If he could, I'm sure he would respond with some sort of incredibly sarcastic comment. His sarcasm, usually frustrating, is something I realize I miss most.

"Is your father really that big of a deal?" I continue to speak to him in the empty air of my room, holding tightly to the sweatshirt. "I mean, I know better than anyone how important it is to appreciate your parents. I would hate to think that he _wasn't_ important to you at all. But letting him completely control your life this way? This is rubbish."

"I know what I felt when you kissed me, Draco. I know that you want me, too. There shouldn't be any legitimate reason why you are so willing to reject this. _Fuck!_ This is so ridiculous! Why am I letting you get to me?"

Sighing heavily into my pillow, I curse myself for acting like such an idiot. There is nothing that I can do about the situation right now. All I can do is sleep and hope that I can pull myself together properly tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 14 - Absence

Draco Malfoy – Thursday, August 3rd, 2000

Sunrise alerts me to the beginning of the new day. After running out on Potter yesterday, I spent hours at Ego drinking with complete strangers. By the time I finally left, I was far too wasted to get back to Blaise's apartment, so instead I spent the night wandering about the streets. It was good to clear my head though. Now, as the sun is rising, I am finally back at the apartment. My feet are sore and heavy, my head is pounding with my hangover, and my stomach is doing somersaults from the anxiety of what is to find inside. Expecting to be bombarded by Potter shouting and starting an argument, I reluctantly push the door open.

Blaise is not on the sofa, which has been transfigured back into its original size and shape. The pillow and blanket that has always been folded up at the end is no longer there. Heartbeat increases. Palms sweat. Head spins. Bracing myself, I walk back into the bedroom. Blaise is asleep in his bed. I look around for the trunk that was usually next to mine. It's not there.

Potter is gone.

"Draco?" Blaise groans sleepily as he struggles out of sleep. "Where have you been? I was starting to think you went back to the manor."

"The manor?" I parrot, not fully processing his question through the shock.

"Yeah, I figured with Potter gone you may have gone back home. Where have you been all night?"

"I've been around. So, you knew that he was gone?"

"He left me a note saying he was going home. Wait, you didn't know? I thought he told you before he left."

Overwhelmed with sudden illness, my feet take off running until I collapse on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, vomiting up all of the anxiety and pain that is balled up in the pit of my stomach. Blaise rushes to my side, his hand rubbing my back gently as the sickness continues. I cannot tell if I'm throwing up from my hangover or from the pain of Potter leaving without telling me. He did not even wait until I got back to say goodbye. He just disappeared while I was out.

"Draco, what the hell happened to you?" Blaise asks concerned, stroking my hair away from my sweat-soaked face. "You've been drinking all night? I can smell the firewhiskey. And Potter didn't tell you he was leaving. Did you two have a fight or something?"

The constant heaving prevents me from answering his questions. After several, agonizing minutes, I'm granted with relief, my body having mercy on me. Feeling utterly defeated, I lie down on the cold, tile floor, eyes closed. Blaise pulls me onto his lap and cradles me. My head is still pounding, but it is the least of my concerns. The fingers stroking my hair are calming. The hand traveling inside my shirt and up to my chest is warm. Normally it would feel good, but at this moment all I can think about is the fact that Potter is gone.

"Dray, are you alright?" Blaise asks gently.

"Have you ever been in so much pain that you could barely breathe because of it? But it didn't matter because if you stopped breathing and it all ended – it would be okay."

"Draco, don't say that. Nothing is going to end and you are not going to stop breathing. Don't talk like that. What's going on? I thought you wanted him to leave?"

What am I supposed to say? _Sorry, Blaise, I know you're in love with me, but I'm in love with Potter, even though I pushed him away because my father would kill us both if he found out._ I'm sure he would take that really well. I can't hurt him like that. Especially when it doesn't matter anyway – because Potter is gone and it's all over now.

"I need to go talk to my mother," I finally mutter weakly, ignoring any reference to Potter and sitting up. Standing up to brush my teeth, I look around in the collection of potions for a cure for my hangover. Blaise stands behind me, watching me curiously as I compose myself. His concern is displayed on his face and I know that he is dying to ask me millions of questions. There is no way I can face that conversation right now.

Instead, I Apparate near my mother's shop in Muggle London. Escaping the Wizarding World is somewhat of a relief. Mother's shop is starting to become a bit of a safe haven. I have my mother, the pillar that has kept me standing all my life, but everything else is somewhere new where nobody knows who I am or what I've done. There is an apartment above the shop where my mother apparently stays when Father is gone. I think it is time that I take up her offer to join her there. As much as it is nice to be with Blaise, I cannot continue to live there with him. I'm starting to feel as though I'm leading him on.

"Good morning, Mother," I say as I enter the shop. The sign in the shop window says that the shop is closed, so we are alone for now.

"Draco!" Mother exclaims in surprise. "What are you doing here so early in the morning? Are you alright? You look a bit ill."

"I just didn't get any sleep last night. I was wondering if I could talk to you about moving into the apartment upstairs."

"Of course, darling! But what about Blaise and Potter?"

"Potter's gone." The tone in my voice makes my feelings on the subject obvious and she takes her time before responding.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you care about him."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of the problem."

"How so?"

Before I can respond, the bell above the door chimes. My mother's shocked expression causes a slight anxiety to spur inside of my chest at the idea of who she sees over my shoulder. It takes a moment and several deep breaths before I am able to turn around to face them. Once I do, my expression matches that of my mother's as I take in the face in front of me.

"How did you find me here?" I ask.

"I was going to work at the café and I saw you through the window," Granger explains. Her expression is hard and her tone is clipped. "_How_ can you be so _stupid!?_ _Please_ tell me how, after everything that's happened, you can have not learned _anything!?_"

"What the hell are you on about?"

"I'm talking about Harry! How could you do that to him!?" she shouts viciously. "He _loves_ you and you just shove him away like he's _nothing!_ Are you that lost!? Are you that dependent on your father that you can't do a single thing for yourself!?"

"Now hold on a minute –"

"You're willing to give up what you want – and don't look at me like that, because I _know_ that you want him, too – and you're willing to break his heart because you think it will make your father _proud_ of you!? Well, let me give you a piece of useful information, Draco – your father will _never_ give you what you want! He will never give you all of the approval and love you are so desperate for! He's incapable of such things! But you're not, you're still human and there's still hope for you. So don't throw it all away!"

Granger glances over my shoulder at my mother, her angry expression faltering for a second as she realizes the things she said about her husband in front of her. She honors me with one last glare, powerful enough to peel the paint off the walls, before storming out of the shop. The silence that is left behind in her absence gives the air a certain chill.

"Well, that was slightly terrifying," Mother says behind me as I continue to stare at the door. Granger's words are torturing me as I stare after her in disbelief. "Draco, darling, what was she talking about? What did she mean when she said that you shoved Potter away?"

Finally turning around to meet my mother's gaze, I know that there is no use in lying to her. "I may have rejected him, possibly."

"You _may_ have?"

"I did. After we last talked, I went home to talk to him. He kissed me and it started to get pretty heated, but I pushed him away. I told him that there was nothing between us and never could be."

To my surprise, my mother looks almost upset at this news. "Why would you do _that!?_ I thought you said that you had feelings for him? I thought that this is what you wanted?"

"It was – _is_. But what about Dad? You know how he would react to this. This whole thing is out of control. There is no way he would ever approve, you know that. It was best to put a stop to it before it got too far and we both got too attached to each other."

"Draco, you two are _already_ attached to each other. And your father is not going to change that. Listen, I know that you want to make your father proud, and that is so sweet of you, but there is such a thing as taking it too far. You mean more to me than anything and I want you to be happy. I would hate to think that you settled for being unhappy for him. If you haven't noticed, I haven't settled. I opened this shop, despite knowing that he would disapprove, because it is what I wanted to do and I don't regret it in the slightest."

"But you are keeping it a secret from him. How easy do you think it would be to keep a relationship with the bloody Chosen One a secret from anyone, let alone Dad? No, I can't go through with it. I just can't. You know what would happen. It was only a kiss. I'm sure that he'll get over it and move on soon enough. As will I."

"But –"

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to talk about this anymore. I'd much rather focus on getting settled in upstairs."

She sighs, wishing that she could continue to argue with me, but resists the urge. "Alright, then. Why don't you go back to Blaise and get your things. I can run back to the manor before the shop opens and grab what is left of your things there."

"Oh, thanks. What about Dad?"

"We will tell your father when the time is right, Draco. For now I want you to focus on getting settled in. Now, go on then. Maybe you'll feel more like talking later."

Convincing Blaise that it is best for me to leave his place took much longer than I wanted it to, but in the end he can't ever say no to me. He even takes the day off of work so that he can help me move in. He helps me to unpack all of my things in my new bedroom while Mum is down in the shop working. We are both quite astonished at the size of this apartment, questioning whether or not Mum has put a charm on it to make it larger on the inside. The king size bed is clothed in a fancy, black bed set with tons of pillows. The closet is about the size of a normal-sized bedroom.

"Damn, this is actually a nice place," Blaise comments as he hangs up my clothes in the closet.

"It is definitely something I can get used to," I reply, organizing all of my books on the shelves in order of genre and author's last name. The act of sorting gives my mind something else to focus on. "As a matter of fact, I think that this seems like the perfect time to completely start over. I mean, I've made a full recovery and now I've got a new place to live – I can completely reinvent myself if I want to."

"Well, don't reinvent yourself too much, Dray, because I really like you the way you are, the way you've always been." His voice is dripping with affection and it makes my stomach turn. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see him blatantly gazing at me, his eyes scanning up and down my body. Thinking it's best to ignore him, I focus my attention back on organizing my books. "There, that's all the clothes. Merlin, Dray, you have too many clothes. I thought I'd be in there forever."

"Hey, now, a sufficient wardrobe is very important."

"I think about half of what you have is already passed sufficient." Blaise walks up behind me, his body almost touching mine. His hand reaches in front of me as he strokes his index finger down the spine of one of the books on the shelf in front of us. "I'm only teasing. You know I love you."

Ever since the incident at Ego with that girl, whatever her name was, Blaise has been much more straightforward about his feelings for me. He is constantly gazing hungrily at me and speaking to me as if I'm his boyfriend or something. He also never misses an opportunity to subtly touch me – stroking my hair, resting his hand on my thigh, whispering in my ear so that his lips brush against my skin. Once again, he is taking advantage of one of those opportunities now, reaching for the book that is currently in my hand and gently stroking his fingers over my own. All of the advances make me uncomfortable, because I don't wish to indulge him, but I don't want to hurt him by blatantly rejecting him.

Rejecting him the way I rejected Potter. Oh, Merlin. A wave of darkness washes over my world, transporting me into a world of shadows. It should be Potter here helping me unpack. It should be Potter standing so closely behind me. It should be Potter stroking the back of my hand. But it's not. And that's my fault. But what else could I do? There is no way I could get away with being with him. It would end tragically – my father would see to that.

"Blaise, can you grab that box over there?" I ask him casually, giving him an excuse to step away from me.

He grunts as he lifts the heavy box and carries it over to me. "Damn, Draco, if you buy any more books your mother is going to have to add a library on to the apartment to store them all."

"First my wardrobe, now my books, Blaise?"

"Sorry, babe, you know I'm just messing with you."

Babe. _Babe._ Did he seriously just call me _babe?_ Oh, for fuck's sake. Even if I was willing to be in a relationship with him, calling me strange pet names is not exactly my style. And it's never been _his_ style either. What happened to that Blaise that I've been best friends with for all my life? This is not an ideal situation, but there is no way that I can confront it without having an incredibly awkward conversation that will end up hurting him. Perhaps I'm overreacting. Perhaps I'm being too sensitive because of this whole Potter thing. _Potter would never call me babe._

"I'm going to go see if Narcissa is going to come with us to grab lunch, okay?" Blaise offers.

"Yeah, sure," I agree, relieved at the chance to get out of this room. "I'll be right down. I'm just going to finish up with this box first."

"Alright, I'll meet you downstairs." Blaise disappears from the room, leaving me to finish stacking the rest of the books in the box next to me.

A new start. That's all I need. A new apartment. A new life. A new start. Everything is going to be fine. _You don't need Astoria. You don't need the meth. You don't need Potter. You can handle this all on your own. You don't need anything or anyone. _I tell myself these things over and over again, hoping to convince myself that there is truth in them. However, in the back of my mind, I know that the sliver of truth lies in the fact that with Potter gone, the cravings are coming back. It's not that I feel like I need the drug anymore, but instead that I don't want to miss Potter. _Stay strong, Draco. Stay strong. Start new. Everything will be alright._


	16. Chapter 15 - Calamity

Harry Potter – Wednesday, August 23rd, 2000

Today marks the third week since leaving Draco. According to Hermione, I'm doing really well and am back to normal. However, she doesn't see me when I go to bed at night, wrapping myself up in Draco's sweatshirt. The sweatshirt has regretfully lost his scent, but I wear it to bed every night anyway. I'm always very careful not to give away any hint to Hermione that I'm still hung up on him. Her well intentioned lectures about how everything will work out for the best and how I'm going to get through this only seem to make it worse, so I've taken to pretending as best I can that everything is fine so that I don't have to hear them.

Although, she hasn't completely dropped the subject. She knows that when I am staring off into space, that I'm thinking about him. She knows that when we go out in public and I'm constantly looking around, that I'm checking to see if he is nearby. She is intelligent enough to know that I have not gotten over him yet, but she doesn't mention it. Instead, she treats me as she normally would. And today, that includes taking me to my favorite restaurant in Diagon Alley during her lunch break.

Fortunately, my job working with George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is not incredibly taxing. After the war, I was not in the mood to get involved in anything to do with the Ministry. I needed something that would put my mind at ease, and working in a joke shop seemed like the perfect thing to do. George was happy to accept my offer, seeing as he was short-handed without Fred and Ron declined the offer to go work in Paris. George is able to handle the shop pretty well on his own, so my part is relatively small, but it keeps me busy from time to time. It doesn't require many hours or too much thought when actually there – which I like. Plus, it's always nice to be around George. He's been extremely understanding of my lack of motivation – him being the only one besides Hermione to know the truth about Draco.

"The shop seems pretty busy today," Hermione points out as we sit down at our usual table.

"Yeah, there have been people coming and going all morning," I tell her, politely making conversation as I stare over her shoulder. "We've been selling an unbelievable amount of Extendable Ears lately. Merlin knows what people are using them for these days."

"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of students using them to eavesdrop on one private conversation or another." Hermione pauses for a moment, examining me as I continue to stare past her. "Harry, are you alright? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm sorry, it's just that – I swear, I've seen her somewhere before."

Hermione subtly glances behind her at a woman sitting at a table that is most definitely in ear shot of ours, as she glances over at me the moment I mention her. Her eyes widen slightly, but she glances back down at the paper in her hands quickly. Where have I seen her before? Hermione doesn't say anything about it, understanding that we are easily overheard and not wanting to make the woman uncomfortable. The woman places her paper on the table and leans over it, causing her long, brown hair to hide her face.

"_So_, Harry," Hermione hisses pointedly at me, trying to snag my attention away from the innocent stranger, "do you have to go back to the shop after lunch?"

"What? Oh, no, George hired Lee Jordan to pick up extra shifts for a while," I explain. "Lee, apparently, lost his job at the _Daily Prophet_, so George is letting him pick up a few shifts at the shop until he can find something else. Although, they seem to get on really well there, so maybe it will become a more permanent placement. The shop has been doing so well that George can afford to hire more people."

"So, it's doing really well, then?"

"Oh, yeah, it's raking in more money than we predicted for this term. To the point even that he's thinking of opening up a second location. Perhaps Lee will be put in charge of that one or something."

"A second location!? That's wonderful! He must be so thrilled!"

"Yeah, he is, but it's still hard on him not to have Fred here to witness it all."

"Of course. Fred would have loved to see the shop doing so well." We both pause for a bit of a moment of silence for Fred as we remember him. "Are there any plans for where this second location will be set up?"

"He really wants to open up one in Hogsmeade. With Zonko's out of business, he feels that the students at Hogwarts are in desperate need of a source for trouble."

Hermione laughs. "That sounds like something he would say."

There is a long stretch of silence as we eat. Unable to help myself, I continue to glance over at the woman behind Hermione. It's killing me that I can't remember where I've seen her before. Part of me wants to simply ask her if we've met before, but by the shocked and almost scared expression on her face when she saw me, that doesn't seem like the best option. Hermione begins pushing the remaining food on her plate around with her fork as she watches me.

"Harry, can I ask you about Draco?" she asks carefully.

Despite the fact that the sound of his name sparks a sharp pain to form in my chest, something else captivates me – the reaction the woman at the next table has to the name. She seems to flinch violently for a moment, glancing over at me with wide eyes. Our eyes lock for a moment and realization hits me harder than a bludger – Astoria. After a long moment, I remember that Hermione is waiting for my response, so I nod slowly to her, still keeping my eyes on Astoria, whose eyes are locked with mine.

"It's been three weeks, Harry. Don't you think it's time that you talk to him?" Hermione inquires.

"Talk to him about what? He's made up his mind, remember? Besides, what good would it do? I'd go and talk to him and he'd reject me again and I'll end up right back where I started."

"You don't know that for sure, Harry, maybe he – I'm sorry, what are you staring at?" She turns around and looks at the woman again. This time, I don't ignore it.

"You're Astoria, aren't you?" I call over to her. She nods. "I knew I'd seen you somewhere before."

"I heard you mention Draco," Astoria says quietly. "Is he alright? I haven't seen him in so long. I've been worried."

"Well, last time I saw him he was fine, I guess. He's clean now and getting his life back on track."

"G-good, that's good. I've been trying to do the same, but it isn't easy."

"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt, but –" Hermione interjects, clearly confused.

"Oh, sorry, Hermione, this is Astoria Greengrass," I introduce them. "Astoria, this is –"

"Hermione Granger," Astoria finishes. "Yeah, I know. Everyone knows who the two of you are."

"So, you're trying to get clean, too?" I ask her, trying to make polite conversation. For some reason I feel a slight connection to her – she, too, has loved and lost Draco.

"_Trying_ being the key word. My supplier isn't making it very easy. Whenever I tell him that I'm quitting, he gets so upset and I don't know what to do. To be honest, he's a bit frightening. Makes me wonder how I got mixed up with him in the first place." She stops, seeming embarrassed to have told us that. "But, anyway, I'm glad that Draco is better. I was hoping he would be."

"Look at it this way, if Draco was able to get better, there is no reason why you won't be able to as well," I suggest. "You just have to stay clear of this guy who is holding you back. And try to get a hold of lots of Cleansing Potion. That's what really helped Draco. I can get some for you if you want."

"R-really? You would do that for me?"

"Sure. No one should have to be trapped in something so terrible, especially if they are trying to break free from it. It's an honorable thing for you to try to get clean."

"It still amazes me that there are people like you out there, Harry."

After our lunch is over, Hermione and I leave the restaurant, standing outside for a while to enjoy the fresh air. Looking back through the window, Astoria is the only one left inside. There is something inside of me, some powerful intuition, telling me that I should not leave her in there all alone. I tell Hermione to wait there for a moment as I go back inside. Approaching Astoria's table, I try to figure out what I want to say to her. What can I say? I don't even know her. However, when she turns to look up at me, her face pale and sunken – her whole body evidence to the drug abuse that she has subjected herself to – I know that I have to say something.

"Hey, um, Hermione and I are going to go back to this café that she owns in Muggle London if you wanted to come with us," I offer her.

"That would be really nice, actually, thank you," she accepts, a large smile spreading across her face. I hold out my hand to her as she stands up and we walk toward the door.

Before we even reach the door, my body reacts to the powerful hit of a spell. My head whips around to see where the spell had come from, but this causes the room to spin and I collapse to the floor. Through the window I can see Hermione's horrified expression before the building collapses down around me. The sound is deafening. Large pieces of rubble rain down on me. Thick dust fills the air to the point that I cannot see Astoria lying next to me. Sharp pain. Incredibly sharp. Cannot breathe. Something is wrong. I can't breathe. Screams of passersby echo around the fallen building. Hermione is calling out to me, her voice hysteric.

"Harry! HARRY!" Hermione shouts. Her voice sounds distant, but I know she is nearby. Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Terrible pain. Where's Astoria? Is she alive? "Harry, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here, it's going to be okay."

Vague understanding that the debris is being lifted off of me is enough to tell me that Hermione has made it to my side.

"Hermione, what the hell happened!?" a male voice sounds loudly.

"Oh, my, George! The building collapsed! It just happened out of nowhere! I have to get Harry to the hospital!"

"Let me help you!"

"No, go to the café, tell Parvati what happened, she has a key to our apartment. Tell her to grab the orange folder in the top drawer of my left bedside table. It has all the information that I am going to need to give the hospital. GO!"

A spell is used to lift me up, causing more sharp pain. The world is starting to fade as the lack of oxygen is slowly torturing me. The shouting and the voices are indistinguishable now as the world fades to black. I'm trapped inside my own mind. The last place on earth that I want to be trapped. Is this the end? Was Hermione's horrified expression and the dust filled area of the collapsed restaurant the last thing I will ever see? Am I going to die without ever seeing Draco again? Without kiss him again? Is this really all there is?


	17. Chapter 16 - Awakening

Draco Malfoy – Wednesday, August 23rd, 2000

Mother and I are having lunch with my father today in the garden at the manor. Basically my participation includes eating and sitting silently while Mother explains as best she can. She tells Father about Astoria and the meth and that I've been living with Blaise while I recovered. She is very careful to leave out any mention of Harry Potter. Father strokes his thumb back and forth over the rim of his wine glass as he takes in the information. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time Mother is speaking. According to her, I'm still living with Blaise. She still feels that it is best not to tell him about the shop just yet. Once she is finished explaining the situation to him, there is a long stretch of silence.

"Draco," Father says, his voice cold and void of emotion, "is this all true?"

I force my eyes to meet his, my hands trembling slightly. "Yes, Father."

"Do you wish to remain with Mr. Zabini?" His tone suggests that the question is simply a casual curiosity and not a subtle command to return to the manor.

"Yes, Father."

"Very well. And what are we to do about Ms. Greengrass?" When Mother and I both stare at him in confusion, he continues. "Well, certainly we cannot ignore the fact that she has seduced you into throwing your life away and deteriorating your mind and body. This situation must be dealt with."

"Lucius, I hardly think that is necessary," Mother chimes in helpfully. "Draco has parted ways with Astoria and he has recovered. He has made it through this, mind and body intact, the way any Malfoy should, I'm sure you'd agree. Must we put the boy through more heartache?"

"She corrupted our son, Narcissa. Do you suggest that we ignore that and let her go on with her life as if she has done nothing wrong?"

"Does he look corrupted to you, Lucius?"

Father takes a moment to look at me very carefully. Fortunately my recovery has included eating more, sleeping more regularly, and keeping my body in good shape – so in reality, there is no reason why I should look corrupted to him at all. His heavy sigh confirms that he has no valid argument to suggest that there is anything wrong with me. In a way, that is a relief, because normally he can _always_ find something about me to condemn and point out as a reason why I am not good enough at being the Malfoy I need to be.

"No, I suppose not," Father finally states. "However, I think that it is only –"

"DRACO? DRACO!" Blaise's voice breaks through my father's protestations. He comes bursting through the garden like a tornado, panting furiously from the exertion as he comes to a stop at the table. "Draco! I've been looking _everywhere_ for you, mate! "

"Blaise, this isn't a good time," I tell him flatly. "Can we do this later? We are in the m –"

"Potter is in the hospital!" Blaise interrupts loudly. Mother gasps, but Father looks confused as to why this is necessary information. My world stops. "I was at Granger's café when that Weasley boy came bursting in, rambling on about how a building collapsed or something and they took Potter to the hospital."

Without even a moment's hesitation, I burst from my chair and storm through the garden, Blaise, Mother, and Father at my heels. Father is shouting something about where the hell we are going and why this is important, only to be ignored. His questions aren't important. I have to get to the hospital. I have to make sure that he's alright. _Please be alive. Please, please, please be alive._

We all Apparate to the hospital where we are running all about trying to figure out where he may have been taken. Father is finally silent, accepting the fact that he will not be getting any answers as of now. We travel from floor to floor until finally, the lift chimes and opens to a floor where we are immediately greeted by evidence that we are on the correct floor. The waiting room is visible from here and as I walk closer, I can clearly see the tragic scene taking place there. Granger is curled up in a ball on the floor in the middle of the waiting room, crying hysterically – Ginny Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood are all surrounding her, trying desperately to comfort her.

"NO! I WANT HARRY! I WANT HARRY!" Granger sobbed, clutching her stomach as if in great physical pain as tears stream down her face. My heart seems to break at the sight. As I approach, the group looks up at me. Everyone except Granger and George Weasley looks enraged by my presence. Granger is still sobbing, but attempt to climb to her feet, unsuccessfully. She falls forward, but I reach her in time to grab her. She falls against my chest, her whole body trembling.

"What's going on?" I whisper to her.

"W-we were – in Diagon Alley – we were just – h-having lunch – and then t-t-the building collapsed – it all happened so fast – and Astoria was –"

"Wait, what? Astoria?"

"Harry went in for her – t-that's why he was inside when it f-fell – I b-brought him here as quickly as I could!" She is practically convulsing from her violent sobs now.

"He is alive? Is he alright?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!"

"They won't let any of us see him," George explains to me calmly.

"What!?" I hiss. "Why the fuck not!?"

"They said that he is in critical condition and that we can't see him right now because we aren't family."

"He has no fucking family! They all know that!" Nobody dares to say anything. "Fuck this!"

Handing Granger back to her friends, I storm off toward a group of Healers that are talking nearby.

"Where is Harry Potter!?" I demand.

"He is in there," one of the Healers points to a door behind me. "But we cannot allow you to go inside."

"I don't give a fuck what you want to allow me to do! Get out of my way!" Angrily shoving off the Healers who are trying to block my way, I force my way into the room. Potter is lying unconscious on the bed, surrounded by Healers.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't be in here," one of them tells me.

"What's wrong with him?" I ignore her.

"You have to leave."

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM!?"

Mum and Dad follow me into the room, Mum holding my hand tightly. The Healers look slightly terrified as I shout at them. Although, it may be the presence of my father that is scaring them. Perhaps they are afraid that the convicted Death Eater will kill them if they don't allow his son to stay, because they do not ask me to leave again.

"He has sustained many injuries," the other Healer explains. "When the building collapsed, he broke an arm and both legs, as well as a rib. The broken rib punctured his lung. We've managed to repair the broken bones and collapsed lung, but –"

"But? But what?"

"We have found evidence of a curse. It seems that the building collapse may have not been an accident. The curse has drained him of a lot of his magic. It will take too long for his magic to restore itself and without it, he does not have enough energy to recover."

"What does that mean?" Mother asks calmly.

"It means that without magic to feed off of, he is going to die."

"What!? No!" For a moment, I feel as though Granger and I are going to end up having a contest to see who can be the biggest basket case in the waiting room.

"Now, hold on," Mother steps in. "There has to be something you can do. Are you sure that is the only complication?"

"Yes, that is the only complication. But there is no spell or potion, nothing we can do to restore his magic fast enough for him to feed from."

"But he can feed off of someone else's magic, can't he?"

"The only way for a witch or wizard to feed off of another's magic is to be Bonded to them, Mrs. Malfoy. You know this, as well as I. It is illegal for Healers to Bond with their patients. It would cause too much chaos."

"There is an entire group of people in the waiting room you could have Bonded him to if you had let them in to see him!" I growl viciously at them. "If you need to Bond him, then Bond him!"

"It's not that simple," the Healer protests. "We cannot legally Bond him without the consent of both parties. Unless he wakes up and consents, there is nothing we can do."

"This is ridiculous! You're practically giving up and letting him die!"

Making my way to the bedside, I sit down and brush the black hair away from the most beautiful face my eyes have ever seen. My hand cups the side of his face as I lean forward to whisper to against his lips, "You have to wake up for me. You can't give up. You're the Boy Who Lived, for fuck's sake. You can't just die. Please, wake up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you. I should have kept you. I need you. Please, wake up. Wake up, Potter. Wake up. Wake up, Harry."

Soft eyelashes flutter against my face. "Draco?"

The broken croak of Potter's voice makes a short sob escape my throat. "Yes, yes, Potter, it's me. I'm here. You have to wake up."

"Mr. Potter?" the Healer says over my shoulder. "I need you to listen to me very carefully, because we might not have a lot of time."

Potter nods weakly. Reaching for his hand, I hold it in between both of mine, staring down at him as he watches the Healer with tired eyes.

"Mr. Potter, your magic has been drained significantly. Your magic is what you feed off of for your energy – it's what you need in order to be strong enough to recover. Do you understand?" After a moment, Potter nods again and the Healer continues. "Now, I have to be straightforward with you when I tell you that you are going to die unless you can feed off of someone else's magic. The only way for you to do that is to be Bonded to someone. Do you know what a Bond is?"

"No," Potter forces out.

"A Bond is a very powerful spell that will link you to another witch or wizard. You will be connected to them physically, emotionally, and magically. What this entails is that you will be able to feed off of their magic, causing your powers to be stronger when you work together. You will be able to feel each other's emotions and sometimes even physical pain or pleasure if it is intense enough. The Bond does not have to be permanent; however, I must warn you that in the eyes of the law, a Bond is considered a marriage. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"A Bond is not legal unless both parties consent to it. Are you willing to consent to a Bond in order to keep you alive?"

"Y-yes, but, who are you going to Bond me to?"

"Me," I answer him confidently.

"What!?" the Healers, Potter, and both my parents all exclaim at once.

"I'll do it. Bond him to me."

To Be Continued…


End file.
